


Nocturnal's Fool

by NamelessShe



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Crossover, Gen, werewolf Dovahkiin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 45,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelessShe/pseuds/NamelessShe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellana, the Dragonborn, has seen a few hell worlds in her lifetime, but Thedas takes the sweetroll. If she can get her hands on the orb Nocturnal sent her to steal, she has a chance of getting home. </p><p>Some one shots. A bit out of order.<br/>This is not going to strictly follow canon or lore of either game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hircine's Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Ellana is a Dragonborn that has completed the Alduin quests, the Thieves Guild quests, and finished the Silver Hand quest in the Companions' quest line.
> 
> She comes to Thedas to steal for Nocturnal and gets caught up in the events at the Conclave. She only poses as Ellana Lavellan to protect her identity.

They were halfway through the Emerald Graves when Ellana realized what day it was. The pale moon, only barely visible under the summer sun, was full. She had hoped the curse wouldn’t affect her in a new world, but she had been irritable, snappish all day. Already she felt the signs. 

It was going to be bad. 

She had no way to contain herself and there were too many people wandering the forest. Hunters, patrols, and Inquisition soldiers---they were all in danger.

When she reached the camp with Iron Bull, Dorian, and Solas, it was mid-evening. Blackness curled at the edges of the orange sky. Too soon she would be a wild beast, killing everything in her path. 

She wanted a room with a solid door or iron bars. She wanted walls so thick no one would hear her howls. But she had been careless and this was the price.

She left her pack by the fireside, taking only enough arrows to fill her quiver. Iron Bull was busy skinning rabbits for the night’s meal, and Dorian was cleaning the cooking pot. Solas, though, was unoccupied enough to notice when she retrieved a bow.

He noticed too much. Always.

“Going hunting?” he asked, “We have enough meat.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She was going to walk as far as she could walk before the curse took her and then she was going to pray no one found her before sunrise. Why hadn’t she sought a cure before she came to this world? Why had she answered Nocturnal’s summons instead of finishing with Hircine? The only answer, she was an idiot.

Solas looked concerned. Of course he did. He had an uncanny, frustrating way of ferreting out her lies. 

“There are still red templars about, I’ll join you,” he said.

“No. I need to clear my head,” she said, “I’ll be back by sunrise.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Dorian said. He stopped scorching the cooking pot for just long enough to shoot her his patented “you are a complete idiot” look. Normally, she would agree. The Emerald Graves was too dangerous to wander alone.

Tonight though, she was the danger.

“Don’t start with me tonight,” she said. She wondered if she had enough arrows to keep her alive long enough to get her back safely in the morning. Thedas fletchers were a far different breed than the ones in Skyrim. Their arrows did a fraction of the damage. Gods, she missed ebony and daedric metal. 

“Inquisitor,” Solas said, his look mirrored Dorian’s, “You are too important. We can not risk your life needlessly.”

“This is not open for debate,” she snapped. She meant to choke out a vague excuse. It’s a Dalish thing or a time for prayers in solitude, but the lies wouldn’t come. She could already feel the pulse of heartbeats, thrumming along her senses. It wouldn’t take much to silence those beats. Paint the ground with their blood, kill, rip, devour---her skin hurt. The thought of killing any of them made her want to cry.

She took a breath and willed her mind to calm. She was not going to get as far as she hoped before it overtook her. 

“If you need a friendly ear,” Solas said, “I am happy to listen.”

She slung her quiver and one of the standard issue Inquisition bows over her shoulder (no need to risk losing her bow) and left him floundering. Apologies could always be made in the morning, but apologies to corpses were worthless things. 

Every blade of grass underfoot, every fluttering insect, every sound was amplified ten fold. She heard the heart of the Emerald Graves and all she could think about was ripping it to shreds. She ran. She ran until her stomach ached and she couldn’t breathe. She ran until her insides heaved and her legs gave out. 

She dropped the bow and quiver somewhere as she stumbled. It didn’t matter. She could find it later. The burn in her skin was too strong. Dark hair sprouted on the backs of her hands, and her bones cracked. She screamed.

Her back rippled. Skin shifted, stretched, tore---she felt every part of her body expand. Her armor split, leather cracking, metal buckles snapping. She could not think. She could not breathe. Only pain. Only hunger.

Her screams gave way to howls. Everything was a haze. 

_She feels someone nearby, smells blood in the air, tastes fear. She feels the fight and rage burning hot inside them. Their song is sick. A part of her knows when she follows it to the source. She tears. She kills. She eats. Hunger abates for a moment and then it starts again. Kill. Eat. Silence the heart beats._

When she finally woke, naked amidst a too familiar carnage, her body was a mass of deep, deep aches. She had a few cuts and bruises but nothing she couldn’t explain away. She felt as though she had run all night. In a way, she had. 

The dried blood on her skin wasn’t hers. Very little of her kills remained, but enough armor was intact to worry her. Pieces of red lyrium crystals glowed in the carnage. Red templars, she realized, her stomach dropping. She had eaten at least three of them.

Three red templars. Three bodies infected with red lyrium. A poison that spreads.

She wretched, her stomach emptying itself. A part of her worried the about contamination. She had seen the future in Redcliffe. Ingesting red lyrium was deadly. She didn’t know if the beastblood thrumming in her veins was enough to protect her. 

Her own armor was gone as was the quiver of arrows and the bow. She didn’t know where to begin to look so she picked through the remains of the dead. She found just enough to make herself presentable---she hoped it was still early enough to slip in to camp unnoticed. There were going to be questions. 

Too many.

When had she gotten so damn tired of this life?

She heard the footsteps long before she neared the camp. She was grateful she wasn’t traveling with the Dalish again. They would have found her before she heard them, but Iron Bull and Dorian were like two trolls thundering through the forest. Solas was only marginally quieter.

She refused to look at them.

“Ellana,” Solas said, his voice going soft. It made her angry. 

“It’s not my blood,” she said, “I’m fine.”

“We found your armor,” Dorian said, “We thought---“ His voice trailed off. His breath strangled in his throat. 

She knew what they thought. She had left camp in leather armor and came back in damaged templar garb. She was covered in blood and limping. Her weapons were gone. The two expressions warring on their faces were sympathy and horror. They didn’t think for even a moment that she was the monster.

But she was the monster. She did not deserve anyone’s sympathy.

“Drink this,” Solas said, handing her a red vial, “Please.” It was the please that did her in. She had downed more than a few of those potions in battle when her strength was waning. She didn’t need it now. She was just tired and sore. The potion would do nothing.

She drank it anyway, just to get him to stop pushing. She waved off his attempts to examine her. Her skin was still too tight and hot, and every little sound raked across her senses. 

She couldn’t let this lapse happen again. She couldn’t forget the curse of the moon.


	2. Not a Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The way magic works in Thedas is baffling.

The touch of magic ghosted over her skin. Before she realized what she was doing, she returned the touch, probing for the source, curious. When she found it, she bristled. She was still angry about the Emerald Graves. No one believed her when she said everything was fine, and he made it worse.

"I find it curious you do not fight with a staff," Solas said.

"I'm an archer." Werewolf. Dragonborn. Nightingale. And it was none of his business anyway what she was. As long as she kept hostile targets from putting a sword through his middle, things were good. 

"Yes, but you are also a mage," he said, "Though I have yet to see you cast. Why are you hiding your magic?"

"There's nothing to hide. I'm not a mage," she said.

"Why not be both?" he asked.

Because templars don't tranquil archers, she wanted to say, but he would take that as an admission. The smarts ones were smart like that. Ellana wasn't admitting to anything even if by his definition, he was correct. She was not a mage. 

She knew a spell to muffle sound. She knew a spell to conjure an ethereal blade and one to conjure an ethereal bow so she would never be without a weapon (though explaining it would have been a whole other headache). She also knew a very basic healing spell and a spell that could detect life if any was near. The only destruction spell she knew was used to light the occasional campfire. She was worthless in an old fashioned, honest to god magic duel. 

His magic reached out again, but this time, she pretended she didn't feel it. She stared at him blankly, waiting for him to tire of the line of questioning. She could mimic that blissful unawareness for as long as she had to. Though she was a shit liar, she could ignore just about anything when she put her mind to it. 

"If you lack instruction, I can provide it," he said, "You should not deny that part of yourself."

"Do you have something shoved in your ears? I'm not a mage," she snapped, "I don't have magic. I put arrows in the people who annoy me. I don't burn them with my mind."

He sighed as though he was very weary and she was a very, very silly child. 

"Very well," he said, "If you change your mind, the offer stands."

"It frigging won't because I'm frigging not a mage." She wondered if she could convince Varric to teach her how to lie effectively without explaining why she needed to know.

 

It wasn't two weeks later before she had to eat her words. It wasn't because of her actual, pitiful magic. It was the Voice. Because of course it was. Because what else would it have been? 

They stumbled into the dragon's valley by mistake, searching for---she doesn't even remember what. The Hinterlands were over run with danger and fighting and impossible amounts of Stupid. Each threat conquered lead them to something new, something worse. And the dragon was worse. Or better. It was breath taking.

"Is that what I think it is?" Iron Bull asked, "Tell me we're fighting it, Boss. Oh, this is a good day." His voice dwindled to a whisper or maybe she just wasn't listening. 

It soared overhead, diving to scorch the earth at their heels as they ran.

She didn't think. When she looked up into its shadow, she didn't remember where she was or who she was with. Her blood sang. She Shouted, power rumbling in her chest. 

"Joor Vah Frul!" 

Dragonrend struck it as it passed. It roared, struggling as the magic curled around its wings, dragging it back down to the earth. It fought. It's tail lashed out, swiping the air beside them and missing by a hair's breadth.

Iron Bull didn't react, but she saw the sideways glance he gave her. There would be time for uncomfortable questions when the beast was dead. He cut the beast, driving it back until it tripped over its own tail. It roared. It tried to strike but missed. She felt its rage.

"Vishante kaffas," Dorian cursed, fighting to keep Iron Bull swathed in a magic barrier, "Hold still." It wasn't an easy thing, for Bull had become a force of nature. He surged and struck, sliding under the dragon's belly, slicing up along the softer scales. The roar of his blood lust made Ellana ache---he felt it too. 

And Solas was Solas. He was smug and angry and silently fuming. Fire and ice clashed across the dragon's scaled back. She knew what he was going to say. She knew how foolish he was going to make her feel when the dragon was dead and he got her alone. 

She couldn't explain Dovahkiin to him any more than she wanted to explain Redcliffe. She didn't even want to try.

She fired a volley, but the arrows glanced harmlessly off of its back. She switched to daggers, arcing around the dragon's legs, cutting, slicing, ripping through the tendons. Iron Bull shouted to draw the dragon's attention away, giving her the opening she needed. She vaulted over the dragon's head and onto it's neck for the death blow. By the end she was as drenched in blood as the Iron Bull.

It was one familiar thing in a world of madness. And when the dragon's soul rushed into her, it felt right. She forgot where she was and basked in the afterglow.

"It seems I was right after all," Solas said. He ruined everything.

He was the only one not staring at her, but he was also the only one insufferably pleased with himself. She jutted out her chin, defiance overpowering good sense. As always. She didn't think. The fight had left her too charged.

"Right about what, hahren?" she asked. She didn't want him to say it, but she dared him anyway. 

The glance he spared her was one of exasperation.

"You used magic to bind the dragon," he says, "Despite the vehemence with which you denied it, you, Ellana, are most certainly a mage."

She snorted. She knew better than this, but somehow, she didn't care. He tried her patience on an elemental level. He saw too much and pushed to hard. There was a not so silent corner of her heart that almost enjoyed it, but that was a dangerous path. She belonged to Nocturnal. She was not free. Besides, his need to be right was going to drive her quite mad. 

"What? You mean that? That was just an old Dalish trick," she said, "You wouldn't understand."

The Iron Bull choked on a cough that was almost a laugh. She was spending too much time with Dalish and Skinner.


	3. Zenithar's Anvil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her tattoo is terrible.

She caught Iron Bull glancing at it when she fired a final shot into the Venatori mage's face.

"Why an anvil?" Bull asked. He wiped the blood off the blade before he secured the sword to his back. 

She should have worn gloves. The Anchor had a nasty habit of burning through the leather. If metal gauntlets didn't make aiming impossible, she would have considered commissioning a pair.

"Why not an anvil?" she asked. It sat on the skin at the base of her thumb, on the back of her hand. The black lines were blocky, the anvil poorly drawn. 

She hadn't chosen the tattoo. The people who took her in off the streets did when they caught her stealing from their shop. She had just happened to choose the one family of devout Zenithar worshipers to burgle. Stealing was among the worst sins. The tattoo was meant to make her remember. They tried to save her. 

They would have been devastated if they knew how she ended up.

"It isn't particularly Dalish, is it?" Solas asked, eyes wide with feigned innocence. He had a Tone she didn't like. 

"No, it isn't particularly Dalish," she said.

She tried to focus on keeping one foot in front of the other, but the sand was hot and soft and hard to walk through. If she had to pick her least favorite place in the world, it would be the Hissing Wastes. If she had to pick her least favorite place in all the worlds, it would still be the Hissing Wastes. It was the kind of place hope went to die. 

"So why the anvil?" Bull asked again. 

"It's not interesting enough to have a story," she said. Why couldn't the Venatori camp on the Exalted Plains? Except for the corpses, that place was decent. At the very least, it wasn't a barren wasteland of giant spiders and sand dunes. She'd take the stench of burnt flesh over dying of heatstroke any day. 

"That means it's an embarrassing story," Bull said, "And I believe we would find that very interesting, right, Varric?"

"Absolutely, Tiny," he said, "What's the story? Did you run away from the Dalish to join a guild of assassin blacksmiths and realize you were in over your head? Was a blood mage involved somehow? That's usually how these things go."

"Not every story has assassins in it," she said. She wished someone would send assassins after Corypheus. Vampire mages, maybe. That was a thing, wasn't it? Maybe then she could stop dragging her ass through places that resembled daedric ass cracks. 

"Well the good ones do," Varric said.

"And I said this wasn't a good story. I just liked how it looked," she said. Even she didn't believe herself. It was ugly, poorly inked, and the symbol of a god at which she routinely thumbed her nose. It was also the only thing she'd kept of the people who took her in. They had tried to love her, even if they couldn't understand her. She hadn't had the heart to attempt to cover up the tattoo. 

"You got drunk, broke into a blacksmith's shop, and tried to steal something, didn't you?" Iron Bull asked.

It was eerie how close he got sometimes. He was almost as bad as Solas. Occasionally, he was worse. 

"I don't know," Varric said, "I think it needs more blood mages."

"You would," Solas said.

"My readers don't seem to mind it," Varric added. He grinned. 

"So how close was I?" Bull asked.

She bit back a groan. Did no one in Thedas ever let a curiosity go? She should have brought Vivienne, Blackwall, and Cassandra. Their questions were less uncomfortable and less frequent. Though Vivienne had too much to say about what she thought of Ellana's status as a mage and what needed to be done about her training---she didn't think the woman was going to let up any time soon.

"Close enough," she said. "It was punishment for stealing."

"Fascinating," Solas said, "What did you---"

"Bread," she said, cutting him off, "And gold." Anything shiny she'd been able to grab and stuff in her pockets. It hadn't been much, really. Just a few fist fulls of jewelry. The bread, she had stuffed in her mouth. And then Father had caught her. The rest was history. 

She wondered if she should just start telling them stories about her life Skyrim. They wouldn't believe her because everything would sound like lies. Maybe they'd stop asking. 

Maybe they pushed because she was too tight lipped. Should she have been pushing them for endless details about their lives? Did the people of Thedas value nosiness as a virtue? Maybe they took her attempts to be polite and not pry as an affront.

It was something to consider.


	4. Through the Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole might not have been the best choice to take to Adamant.

"Smoke on the watch tower. No, get back! It's still here somewhere," Cole said, "Shadows overhead. Blistering, burning, skin scorched black and red. It wasn't supposed to be real."

The sight of Corypheus' dragon set Cole off. It didn't matter that they were surrounded by demons and half mad Grey Wardens. He couldn't stop himself from letting loose a string of barely comprehensible words. Ellana sent a silent curse to Warden Commander Clarel and the idiot, Erimond. May they find infinite suffering in the after life for this madness. 

"Help the Inquisition!" Warden Commander Clarel shouted as she took off after the idiot. 

The dragon swooped down to breathe corrupted fire on the Wardens. It was faster than she remembered. Stroud pulled her out of its path.

"That's enough, Cole. Thank you, Stroud," Ellana said. She was reminded why she didn't like to take Cole along on missions. He was easy to deal with, easy to decipher, when she didn't have an audience. 

"But you eat their souls. No one deserves that," Cole said, "It hurts them. You can't help it, but you make them not real. You tear them apart to make yourself stronger."

She ducked as a rage demon tried to remove her face. She had expected to take them out from a distance, but they had swarmed her almost immediately. She fired one shot into its middle before switching to her blades.

"They're dragons, Cole," she said, "I only hurt the ones that hurt me."

"This is a weird conversation," Blackwall said, "Could you maybe save it for a time we aren't fighting for our lives?"

"An excellent idea," Ellana said. She tried to slip into stealth, but it was pointless. Demons, it seemed, were a little brighter than the other enemies they'd faced. They followed her. No matter who got in their path, they always tracked right back to her.

Blackwall and Stroud planted themselves between the demons and Ellana to buy her some time. She downed a health potion. 

"You thought you wouldn't be you here," Cole said, "But you are. The magic is wrong, but it doesn't touch the part under your skin. The part that makes you you."

"Cole, please," she said, "Not now."

Hawke sent a bolt of lightning past her ear. It singed her hair but struck the target. The demon hissed and fell back, giving Ellana the opportunity she needed to stab it in the throat. 

"Cole is a spirit of compassion, Inquisitor," Solas said, cutting in, "It is in his nature to help. Perhaps you should let him. Later of course. Cole, this isn't the best time for that kind of help."

He lay a circle of ice and wind down around Blackwall and Stroud, freezing the mob in their tracks. The warriors shattered them with a shield bash. How Solas' spells didn't lay them flat on their asses, she'd never understand.

"I'll remember that the next time he starts talking about that mysterious thing you did to save some mysterious people you won't talk about," she countered. Solas ignored her. 

"You shouldn't be afraid of who you are, but you shouldn't hurt them just because you can," Cole said.

The dragon flew overhead, pausing just long enough to hurl a corrupted fire ball at her. It was too high for her to attempt Dragonrend. She had to roll out of the way. She nearly clipped Hawke. 

"Should I let it eat me?" she asked. Cole disappeared only to reappear behind the fear demon that had been pestering him. He let loose a flurry of strikes that made the creature shriek. It collapsed in on itself as it died. Blackwall finished off the last of the demons, ending the fight.

"You know what will happen when they die," Cole said, "You shouldn't be near them then."

Stroud shot her a mystified look, and Hawke seemed... concerned. She sighed. 

"Distance doesn't always make a difference," she said, 'Let's go."

Warden Clarel had a ridiculous head start. There was no way they'd reach her before she gutted Erimond. Not that Ellana was that terribly interested in catching her. Erimond was getting a blade to the gut either way. 

 

Fuck the Fade, she thought as she hung upside down, suspended from nothing. It was Apocrypha all over again. The sky was a horrible shade of vomit green and gravity didn't work the way it was supposed to. What few structures existed here were little better than desiccated ruins. She didn't know how she'd gotten them stuck here, but she regretted it. 

Cole was even less impressed than she was.

"No, no, no, this place is wrong," he said.

"It's alright, Cole," Solas said, "Feel the ground beneath your feet. Breathe."

"I made myself forget," he said, "But I know it wasn't like this."

"It does seem different than I remember," Hawke said.

"I believe it's different because we're here physically," Solas said.

"No, Cole's right," Ellana said, "This is wrong, and I hate it." She tried to right herself, but ended up just sort of flailing. Solas stared at her.

"Help, please," she said. She was never opening another rift ever again if she made it out of this alive. She swore to Zenithar and Nocturnal and even the Dread Wolf. Any deity she could remember. This was not happening again. 

Solas caught her wrist and pulled. Much too slowly for her taste, the world righted itself. She planted her feet on the ground. 

"Better?" he asked. He smiled.

"Marginally," she said. It was not better. It was not even a little better. She realized she was still holding on to his arm and let go.

"No, no, no, no," Cole said, "This is worse. I'm real. I shouldn't be here."

Stroud and Blackwall exchanged a Look.

"None of us should be here," Stroud said, "And the sooner we find a way out, the better."

"I know it's difficult, Cole," Blackwall said, "Try to keep a clear head. Panic will only make it worse."

"It can't make it worse when it's already worse," Cole said, but he took a deep breath and seemed to try to calm himself.

"We're going to get out of here one way or another," Ellana said, "I promise."

 

The only good thing about being caught in the Fade was the return of her memories. With each new vision, she glimpsed her failure. She saw what happened in the Conclave and how she had lost her chance to claim the orb for Nocturnal. The near constant pain from the Anchor was a phantom compared to what she had felt when the magic marked her hand. 

Corypheus' disembodied voice followed them, taunting, insulting. He offered to help Cole forget. He implied Blackwall wasn't a real warden. He taunted Hawke about death. And as for Solas? Ellana didn't speak enough elvhen to understand what Corypheus said to him, but whatever it was, it made him scowl.

Corypheus was on her last nerve. What he said to her, made her want to remove the important parts of his face and feed it to him. 

"Which master truly holds the leash, Inquisitor? I'll not waste my wit on a beast. And you are a beast, ill trained and stupid. You toy with forces you will never understand. How long before your masters tire of waiting?"

She had been called far worse, and she had spent more nights than she could count wondering who would claim her soul when she died. But she had no doubts left that Nocturnal would be the victor. Her claim was first. Her claim was greatest.

Corypheus' voice was poison. 

"It doesn't belong to her," Cole said. 

"What doesn't?" Ellana asked. 

She had to count to ten before she asked. The Fade creature in the distance was hideous and huge and directly blocking their path to the exit. Even if they did make it close enough, the thing was going to eat them. 

"Burning, searing, too hot to touch, green light splitting the skin, peeling it back to crawl inside," Cole said, "Can't let go but it hurts. She won't let me come home if I let go."

"Oh," Ellana said, "That."

"What do you mean, Cole?" Solas asked. 

When he looked at her, she felt like he was trying to peel back her thoughts. It was too similar to the way he sent his magic out to touch hers, to catch her in her lie. 

"He doesn't mean anything," Ellana snapped, "Cole, change the subject."

"You can't give it to her," Cole said, "She doesn't want to help. She wants to hurt. The chains don't have to be real."

"Again," Blackwall cut in, "Now is not the time for this. Cole, watch your flank."

Cole disappeared again. The creature that was about to take a bite out of him chittered, confused. Ellana counted eight legs and at least six eyes. It's fleshy body was covered in coarse, black hair. She fought the a wave of panic. Why was everything always spiders in the Fade? Why not draugrs or vampires? Why not templars? 

Cole appeared in front of her. He stabbed another spider demon in the back of the head. 

"This is no good," Hawke said, staff lowering when there was a break in the fighting, "One of us has to stay behind, draw their attention."

"You are too important, Champion," Stroud said, "It must be me. Let me make up for the Wardens' mistakes."

They turned to Ellana, eyes expectant, waiting. Gods take them both for making her choose.

Her last look at Stroud caught him staggering, falling to his knees as he died.


	5. Blame Satina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drinking with Sera is not the best idea Ellana has had.

"Why do you smell like wet dog today?" Sera asked, wrinkling her nose.

Satina, the stupid second moon, was full and Ellana had a headache. Satina had never fully triggered the curse, but it did bring out some of the less charming side effects. The smell of wet dog fur was one. The aching desire to eviscerate anyone who looked at her wrong was another. Sera did not know how close to the edge she stood.

"Aren't you supposed to be putting lizards in Solas' bed or something?" she asked.

"Or something. Can't pull the same prank twice in a row. Ruins the surprise," Sera said, "What crawled up your arse and died?"

Ellana took another long gulp of the piss colored, watered down joke of the drink in front of her. Cabot's definition of ale bordered on criminal. If anyone could get drunk off it, they shouldn't be drinking in the first place. 

"Can't get the smell out, no matter how much I scrub," Cole said, surprising them both, "Skin burning, bones cracking. Every part of me is pain."

"Oh, it will be, Creepy," Sera said, "Go away!"

She tried to smack him, but he disappeared.

"I just want to help," he said. He reappeared just long enough to give them both the sad face. Sera snagged Ellana's ale and chucked it at him. The glass hit the stairs where he'd been standing and miraculously didn't shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. 

"Help yourself!" Sera shouted.

"Can't you throw your own drink?" Ellana asked. She felt a little bad for Cole. No matter what he did, Sera was never going to like him. The more he tried, the worse it was.

"You weren't going to finish it anyway," Sera said, "Frigging cheer up, Inky. It's bad for morale or whatever."

"Being Inquisitor means I don't have to cheer up," Ellana said.

"Maker's balls it does," she said.

Ellana tried to get Cabot's attention. When he finally stopped pouring drinks for Not Her, he looked at her like she'd crawled out of the privy.

"You're cut off," he said, "Go take a bath. You stink."

"You aren't my mother, Cabot," she said, "And if you were, I'd be twice as ugly as I am now."

"You're still cut off," he said. Ellana slumped, her forehead hitting the bar just a little too hard. She thumped it a second time before she decided it probably wasn't the best cure for her headache. 

The smell didn't wash away. Usually, it wasn't even that big of a problem. It was werewolf stink. It was accompanied by the transformation, and when she was in beast form, she didn't give a rat's ass how bad it was. Stupid, broken Satina meant Ellana had to endure the disgusted looks on people's faces until the moon lost its hold on her. 

It wasn't even a proper moon anyway. It was tiny. 

She heard Sera's stool scrape against the floor. 

"You can sit there and mope," Sera said.

"No, you can't," Cabot said.

"Can too," Ellana muttered, "It's my bar."

"No, it isn't," Cabot said.

"Or you can do something," Sera continued, "If you get your head out of your arse, you can help me prank the Egg. He's due for another---something. Haven't worked it all out yet, but it'll be fun."

In spite of it all, Ellana felt herself perk up. She turned her head, cheek pressed flat against the bar.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked. 

"Don't know yet, but might as well make it good," Sera said. She grinned.

 

In retrospect, removing all the covers from Solas' books and replacing the insides with copies of Hard in Hightown was probably not a great idea. Attempting to remove the covers while drunk was even less of a great idea. And the feathers? She didn't even know why or where that came from. 

Possibly Sheogorath. Possible Mehrunes Dagon.

Solas glared at her. He had already stripped the covers from the copies of Hard in Hightown and left them in a haphazard pile beside his desk. How he expected her to remember which cover went with which book was beyond her. 

"And when you've finished with these, I found another stack in the stairwell," he said, setting more of the defaced books on the floor in front of her. She tried to ignore the feathers sticking to Solas' sweater, but there were just so many.

She was never drinking with Sera again. Sera was evil.


	6. Honeycakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue of Storvacker the bear.

Ellana was glad it was cold. If it was any warmer, the mosquitoes would have been unbearable.

Orlais was a festering cesspool of silk wrapped milk drinkers, but the Avvar in the Frostback Basin made a strange kind of sense. Ellana wasn’t a huge fan of covering herself with mud or welcoming wild bears into her home, but it was a far cry better than trying to dance with people who hated her.

The Frostback Basin was like Solstheim. The Avvar were wild Nords. The magic was a little less restrained and a bit more familiar. And all the vaguely familiar names were spoken with a vaguely familiar lilt. It surprised her.

She wondered what Hakon One-Eye would think of the Jaws of Hakkon. What would Gormlaith and Felldir think? 

“It’s not the same,” Cole said, surprising her as he was wont to do, “But they would feel at home.”

"Who?" Blackwall asked.

"The ax is heavy, but the weight of the world is heavier," Cole said, "Through fire and time, the terror has lived. No more, I say! I've set my heart on terrible deeds, death's grim art!" She recognized Hakon's words. How Cole was able to reach for them across worlds was a little frightening.

Blackwall and Solas exchanged their usual “the spirit boy is at it again” looks. Blackwall was slightly less charmed by it. Still, Ellana was glad she’d left Vivienne and Iron Bull behind. They’d shown a pointed disapproval for the way the Avvar conducted their lives.

Too many spirits and too much wild magic, apparently. She wondered what they’d think of a world where everyone could cast spells or summon “demons”. She could just imagine their faces the first time someone summoned a fully pissed off, armored daedra from Oblivion.

“You’re very quiet,” Solas said. The ground was muddy, marshy, and her boots were not as water tight as they should have been. Each step she took, the mud sucked at her feet. 

“I like it here,” she said, “No one expects me to dance or make cryptic small talk or wear fancy, uncomfortable shoes.”

“The day is still young, da’len.” The crooked smile he gave her was almost endearing.

She made a face.

“Don’t even joke about it,” she said. The thought of the Avvar hosting a grand ball with silken gowns and high heeled shoes and idiots who were too busy fanning themselves to notice an assassination plot made her want to over turn tables and throw fancy wine. 

“I should not be surprised you hated the Winter Palace,” he said, “That thing you did with your feet when you were trying to dance still haunts me.”

“You were all warned,” she said, “It’s not my fault you didn’t believe me.” Dancing was fine, but Orlesian dancing was one step above torture. 

“You can kill a dragon but you can’t fake your way through the most basic steps of an Orlesian waltz.”

“When would a Dalish hunter learn an Orlesian waltz?” she asked.

“Perhaps when I meet one, I will ask,” he said.

Blackwall made a frustrated sound. It was bad enough trudging through the muck in light weight, leather armor. It had to be miserable to try it in full plate mail. 

“If we have to track a pet bear in a swamp, I’ll thank you both to save this for a time when I don’t have to listen to it. You sound like an old married couple.”

Cole pulled his hat down over his ears and jumped over a puddle. The muddy water on the other side splashed Blackwall. To the man's credit, he didn't react. He just set his mouth in a grim line and continued on. 

“My apologies, Blackwall,” Solas said, “You are right. Instead of bickering, perhaps the Inquisitor would regale us with a few Dalish tales from her youth. I’m certain it would prove enlightening.”

“Where did you say you were from again?” Ellana asked. She would bet real money he had a few secrets he was hiding from the Inquisition. He was too smugly superior. An apostate like that who just happened to be exactly what they needed, when they needed them, was highly suspect. 

“I didn’t say," he said, almost grinning, "And I’m much more interested in Clan Lavellan.” I just bet you are, she mused. 

"Maker's balls," Blackwall said, "What do they want with a damn bear anyway?"

"She's not a person but she could be if she wanted," Cole said, "She likes the table scraps. Fullna is her friend."

"Er, yes, thank you, Cole," Solas said, "That clears it up quite nicely."

"You're welcome," he said. 

"It could be any number of things," Ellana said, "We'll know when we find Storvacker."

Cole wasn't wrong. The bear was a member of the clan. She was sacred, she was loved. The Jaws of Hakkon could have targeted her for that purpose. Or it could have been for something worse. The Avvar's magic was different than the rest of Thedas. It held echoes of something far older. When she first found the Auger, he recognized her magic. The spirits whispered Dovahkiin. He said nothing of it, but the knowing look he gave her, the faint almost-smile, was enough. Ellana wanted to talk to him alone, but there had been no time.

Storvacker had found herself in a world of trouble.

"You're sure it came this way?" Blackwall asked.

The water had warped the tracks, but it was definitely Storvacker. The bear had come through recently, and then the Hakkonites had captured her. The new tracks lead deeper into the marsh. If she had to guess, she would have said their destination was the ruin peaking out of the mountain. It was the only place they could have gone.

"Small, cold, the walls are stone, no way out," Cole said, "She hurts but they do not bring meat."

"A hungry bear. This just keeps getting better," Blackwall said.

"She won't hurt us," Cole protested, "She knows we aren't food. She's afraid. She will know we want to help."

Blackwall didn't look terribly convinced. 

Storvacker was locked in a cell in the ruins cut into the mountainside. She greeted them with a pitiful roar. The few Hakkonites left to guard her were equally as pitiful. Blackwall cut through them like they were nothing after Solas froze them. They shattered into horrifying pieces.

Storvacker pawed at the gate.

"See," Cole said, "She wants to be free. She won't attack." He rushed to free her while Solas rifled through the nearby workstation. Blackwall planted himself in front of the only exit. Just in case. The few Hakkonites they dispatched to clear the way couldn't be the only they'd encounter. They wouldn't have gone to all that trouble to secure the bear and then lose it for lack of manpower. 

"The augur will want to see this," Solas said, "I am not certain, but I believe Storvacker was to be a sacrifice."

"They chose a bear for that?" Blackwall asked, sounding mystified. 

Storvacker lumbered out of her cell. She stopped to nuzzle Cole's hand. She nosed at his pockets. When she found nothing, she moved on. Her disappointment was palpable.

"They are a strange people," Solas said, "But there is a certain logic to it all. Storvacker is beloved by the hold."

"I'm sorry I didn't bring honeycakes," Cole said, "I didn't know, but I will next time."

"No," Blackwall said, "You feed her and she'll never leave you alone. Storvacker may seem domesticated, but she's still a wild animal."

"But she likes honeycakes," Cole protested.

"I like a lot of things that aren't good for me," Blackwall said, "But liking something doesn't change what it is. You are not feeding honeycakes to a bear. If you must give them away, give them to me."

Ellana bit her lip to stifle her laughter. The look on Cole's face said otherwise. He would feed honeycakes to the bear, probably for the rest of the time they were in the Hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hakon One-Eye Quote taken from Skyrim: Through fire and time, the terror has lived. No more, I say! I've set my heart on terrible deeds, death's grim art!


	7. Gods Take Orlais

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana does not love Orlais.

Josephine had a fit when she saw what Ellana tried to wear under the horrible Inquisition formal attire. Her face turned a lovely shade of scarlet and her cheeks puffed out.

"No. Take that off immediately," Josephine said.

"How am I supposed to thwart an assassination if you stick me in bright red?" she asked.

"I don't care how you do it," Josephine said, "But you will not do it like this. You can not wear that armor under formal wear. There have been many things you have done that made me want to weep, but this will not stand. You look like a fool."

She was right. The formal attire was a little too snug to hide the outline of the Nightingale armor. Ellana had been in the process of trying to stretch it enough so it wouldn't be quite so obvious. Josephine just had terrible timing.

"If we make it just a little bigger," she said.

"We don't have time, Inquisitor," she snapped, "We are already supposed to be on the road. We are well past fashionably late."

They were going to make her dance and play diplomat. Or rather, they were going to make her try to dance and listen to her accidentally insult the most influential Orlesians in the Winter Palace. Ellana could take the rings right off their fingers, but talking was a political disaster waiting to happen. 

She had tried to mediate a war once. General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak had agreed to meet, and by the end of it, they were screaming. The important cities of Skyrim were divided up and no one was pleased. The truce may have technically held, but in truth, the Greybeards had been the only thing holding back real fighting. 

And then she'd gone to fight Alduin. She'd rather face him a thousand times again if it meant she didn't have to squeeze into the horrible Inquisition uniform. 

Reluctantly, she let Joesphine peel her out of her armor and stuff her into the horrible, scratchy red monstrosity. The enchantments would have made her life so much easier. Why did the Inquisition have to make everything so damn complicated?

Josephine pulled the sash a little too tight around Ellana. She let out a hiss of pain.

"I don't care," Josephine said, "Get through this and I will never ask anything else of you."

"We'll save the Empress," Ellana said, "But it's going to be a disaster."

"Nonsense, you will be fine," she said.

"Well, I probably won't die," Ellana agreed, "But you'd better hope no one asks me to dance."

"Stick to the basic steps. Don't try anything fancy," she said, loosening the sash less than a fraction. It was still too tight, but Ellana could almost breathe comfortably.

It was going to be a long evening.

 

Ellana knocked back another glass of too sweet wine. Hang them all. Celene was a stuffy headed feather brain. Gaspard was an insufferable hot head with too much money and not enough sense. And then there was Briala---Ellana couldn't decide if she hated her or admired her for her ability to wade through the whole mess.

The music was terrible. The food was terrible. The wine was terrible. The people were terrible. Cassandra had been right. It was all foolishness and stupidity. It was a waste of time. 

Vivienne, on the other hand, was practically glowing with pleasure. She liked this kind of shit.

"Darling, you're embarrassing yourself," she said. She plucked the empty wine glass out of Ellana's hands.

"I told you this wouldn't work," Ellana said.

"Yes, well, that was never in doubt," Vivienne said, "Do try to keep your head up. Dignity is all you have left at this point."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Josephine said. She moved the rest of the wine out of reach.

"I told you I can't dance," Ellana said.

"Yes, well, what's done is done," Josephine said, "You tried your best. That's all that matters."

She doubted Florianne would agree. The woman probably had a broken toe or ten. Not that Ellana cared about the state of her feet. She thought she was much more clever than she really was. Her coy little barbs had done nothing to improve Ellana's mood. 

If she had to bet money, she would have bet it all on Florianne being up to no good. Briala probably knew more than she dared to admit. Just the sound of Gaspard's voice made Ellana's teeth lock. And Celene was too stupid to realize she was about to be murdered.

What the hell was the point of dancing when an entire country was about to be thrown into chaos?

"Now, do be a dear and mingle," Vivienne said, "You still have to talk to Lady Mantillon and Duke Germain. You won't win us any favors if you drink yourself into a stupor."

"Yes," Josephine said, "Please."

A pity. Drinking herself into a stupor would have improved her evening considerably. Solas was lucky. He got to stand in the shadows and watch the idiocy from a safe distance. He didn't have to prance like a trained dog. 

Lady Mantillon laughed when Ellana approached her for a dance. She couldn't blame her. She had got a clear view of Florianne's horrified face when Ellana crushed her delicate toes. She wasn't the only one. The sea of party goers parted around her. No one wanted to get too close to the "savage". 

That was just fine. 

 

Ellana leaned against the railing. It was finally over. 

She was never going to Orlais again. When this was over, when it was all over, she was pretending the whole palace was sacked by dragons. It would have been such a lovely sight. The hideous swathes of silk burning while the diplomats screamed. Barrels of wine exploding, the horrible gold plaiting melting off every surface. 

Florianne was not fast enough to stab Celene in the back. Gaspard was not smart enough to hide his treachery. By luck alone, she managed to get Briala and Celene to reconcile. It was fortunate for Orlais, because Celene couldn't rule her way out of a bag. 

Ellana hoped whatever hell their Maker had prepared for them was filled with pain and rats and maybe even spiders. Forget the rats. There definitely needed to be giant poisonous spiders. And that horrifying Zither fellow. He should play for an eternity there. It was torture enough.

Gods, why was Orlais so weird?

'I'd ask you to dance," Solas said, "But I like being able to walk." His voice came from out of nowhere, making her jump. He laughed as he leaned against the railing. 

"If I never dance again, it will be too soon."

"Yes, that's true," he said.

"We accomplished what we set out to do," she said.

"Yes," he said, "And if we're looking on the bright side of things, the mere mention of the Inquisitor inspires fear in the hearts of every dancer in Orlais."

"Good. That means I don't have to do this again."

"Josephine would not survive the scandal," he agreed.

They lapsed into silence. It was almost pleasant.


	8. Snow Elves and the Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Deep Roads are unsettling, but at least, they don't have to contend with the Falmer.

Her first inkling came when she saw Solas standing barefoot in the snow. How he could stand it, how he didn't end up with frostbite, she'd never know. 

Her second came when she saw him in the Deep Roads, the shadows dancing off him as his magic crystalized around a Darkspawn warrior. For an instant, he was someone else. She felt a stab of fear, unable to find the source of her concern. 

And the third was when she dreamed of Knight-Paladin Gelebor that night. He was the last of his kind. The Falmer were just a distorted echo of what they should have been. There was a sadness about him, a cold distance in his eyes as he looked at her. That was when it snapped into focus

Solas was like that sometimes. He reminded her of the snow elves, and when he was fighting in the Deep Roads, the darkness distorting his features, he reminded her of the Falmer. She had almost mistaken him for an Altmer once, but his complexion was wrong. Snow elf, that was Solas.

"Inquisitor," he said suddenly, catching her looking at him, "Did you need assistance?"

Three pairs of eyes looked at her---Dorian, with a knowing smirk, the Iron Bull, also with a knowing smirk, and Solas, his face as blank as he could make it. It was a small miracle she had decided to leave Varric aboveground. If he'd been here, she would have never heard the end of it. The title of his next book would have been something cringeworthy about the Deep Roads and sex with bald apostates. 

She hated the Deep Roads. Not as much as she hated the Fade or Orlais, but the dark was unsettling. She kept expecting to hear a familiar, eerie hiss followed by the sound of a gangly body dropping from above, sword in hand. Or the scuttle of too many tiny feet on the stone and feel the sting of chaurus poison on her skin. 

Still, if she had to choose between Orlais and the Deep Roads, she'd go to the Deep Roads every time.

"Inquisitor?" Solas asked. Suddenly, he looked concerned.

She shook herself.

"Sorry, lost in thought," she said, "No, I don't need assistance."

"Yes, well," Solas said.

They continued on in silence. Every so often Bull grumbled about his horns and the narrow passage. Cassandra or Blackwall might have been a better choice. It was her first journey into the Deep Roads. She hadn't known how small the tunnels could be, though it should have been common sense. Dwarven tunnels would be built to accomodate dwarves, not giant, lumbering Qunari warriors. 

"Dear, dear, dear Ellana," Dorian said, "This would make a marvelous campsite. Don't you think?" 

"What?"

"I'm tired and my feet hurt. I want to stop," he said.

"Oh, right," she said.

"Forget me," he said, "You need to stop. Are you even awake?"

"The Deep Roads probably aren't my favorite place," she said. 

They had only ventured in to dispatch a group of Darkspawn that were plaguing the surface. The Darkspawn had lead them deeper and deeper into the confusing darkness, until finally, they had attacked. Killing the creatures had been simple enough, but they were far underground. By the time they reached the surface, they would have spent almost three days in the dreadful place.

The Darkspawn were worse than the Falmer. She hadn't thought it possible, but the taint made them even more dangerous. They were just as savage, but the idea they could transfer their sickness to anyone just by their blood...well.

"The Deep Roads aren't anyone's favorite place," Dorian said, "All the more reason to stay focused."

"Then we should make camp," she agreed, "We could all use the rest."

Camping in the Deep Roads was different than camping above ground. Tents were too dangerous. They couldn't risk creating more shadows. The light had to touch everything. Some of the Darkspawn knew how to move soundlessly, some could almost make themselves invisible.

It was nothing more than bedrolls set around a small circle of heated rocks. Dorian and Solas took turns heating them and soon the passageway was a pleasant temperature. They also summoned a few wisps to keep the darkest corners lit. Dinner was dried trail rations, jerky and dried fruit and the last of the bread. They'd already eaten the last of the cheese.

That was one thing Thedas had over Skyrim. This world treated cheese like an art form. They put it in everything. They made seemingly endless flavors and textures. It made it impossible for her to yearn for a sad wedge of eidar. 

"I have a great idea," Iron Bull said.

Inwardly, Ellana groaned. His great ideas usually resulted in hangovers and embarassment. 

"Do you now?" Dorian asked, unable to hide his skepticism.

Iron Bull grinned.

"I do," he said, "Tell us about the dragons, Boss. That weird shouting thing you do, what is that?"

"Really?" she asked, "That's your great idea."

He shrugged.

"It's just us down here," he said.

'I think it's an excellent idea," Solas said, brightly.

"Yeah, you would," she said.

"Come on, Boss, what's the harm in it?" Bull asked, "I've been dying to ask."

She was not having this conversation. She was not telling them she absorbs dragon souls and uses their own dragon language against them. But Bull looked so eager. He looked like his interest was genuine. Solas was another thing entirely. He just wanted to fit the pieces of a very interesting puzzle together and then bask in his own smugness.

"It's just a thing I can do," she said, "There isn't much to tell."

"I disagree," Solas said, "It is a unique manifestation of magical abiliy, and those are always worthy of study." He put the emphasis on "magical." This time, she didn't rise to take the bait. She shut her mouth.

"None of that magical study crap, I want the good stuff," Bull said, "I want the details."

'The details?"

"Your first dragon," he said, "First kill. The look on its face when you hit it with that thing and it dropped like a stone.."

She puffed out a breath. Oh. That.

"That's not a very exciting story," she said, "I couldn't really do anything in the beginning. I didn't learn that ability until much later."

"So it can be learned?" Solas asked. Damn it. 

"Yes," she said.

Iron Bull thumped her on the shoulder. She rocked back almost losing her balance. Dorian grabbed her arm to steady her. He shot Bull a Look. 

"Well, go on," Dorian said, "Ignore Solas. What happened?"

"The first dragon kill," she said, "It attacked a watch tower and a group of us were sent to kill it."

"And? Come on, Boss, you can do better than that," Iron Bull said.

"It was a fire breather, not as big as the dragons we fought though," she said. Mirmulnir, a sassy son of a bitch, "I didn't do much, just supressing fire while the others did the bulk of the damage. It died. I learned my first Shout."

She absorbed its soul, a thing that still horrified Cole. She unmade it to make herself stronger, he had said. She had never thought of it like that before, but now that he had voiced it, she couldn't forget it. Was that really what she had done?

Solas huffed a little.

"But how did you learn it?" he asked, "The dragon died and you suddenly had this knowledge." He sounded skeptical, but he was right. That was essentially what happened. 

How much could she even tell them before she told them too much? How much did she have to tell them to stop their prying?

Solas would never stop. He had the look of a dog with a bone, again. 

"How big was the dragon then? How much smaller?" Iron Bull asked, "How did it fight?"

"A little smaller than the dragon we fought in the Hinterlands," she said, "It circled and attacked from above like a coward. We were lucky we had archers with us or we wouldn't have been able to bring it down. Once it was on the ground, it didn't stand a chance."

"Was it a young dragon?" Iron Bull asked, sounding slightly disappointed. She almost laughed. Mirmulnir, a young dragon? An ancient resurrected dragon in league with a spoiled shit of a god. If anything, it should have been more powerful than Thedas dragons, but Thedas Dragons were made of sterner stuff.

Thedas dragons couldn't be fought solo.

"It was very old," she said, "It was just small."

"And when it died, it passed its knowledge on to you," Solas said, "Cole said you absorbed its soul. Is that true?"

Damn it. He would have picked that part of the conversation to latch onto. He must have been saving that piece of information for just the right moment, and now he had found it. She didn't know what to say. 

"It just happens," she said, "It's not something I can control."

"You absorb its soul?" Dorian asked, sounding both fascinated and horrified.

"Yes," she said, "I don't know. I'm not talking about this now." How had they tricked her into to telling them this much? She was usually better about holding it all in. Something about the Deep Roads had made her sloppy.

Something about Solas' face in the dark made her fearful.

She did not like being afraid.

"You are absolutely no fun," Dorian said, "We need to work on your story telling skills."

"That's what Varric is for," she said, "You want a good story, read Hard in Hightown."

"What is it with you and that book?" Solas asked, "I've been meaning to ask."

She felt her cheeks heat, and for the first time, she was greatful the lighting was terrible.

"I don't have a thing for it," she said. She had absolutely not read it ten times. And she was most definitely not the responsible for the missing copies. 

"You managed to find forty seven copies of it in Skyhold," Solas said, "I have not forgotten the prank."

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that," he said. 

He stared at her. Dorian stared at her. Iron Bull stared at her. She forced herself to yawn.

"I didn't realize how tired I was," she said, "I'm going to turn in. Wake me when its my watch."

"Oh, no you don't," Iron Bull said, "You are not getting away that easily. Varric is going to shit himself when he finds out the Herald of Andraste reads his smut."

"I do not," she said.

"Is that what you and Cassandra were talking so secretively about the other day?" Dorian asked, "I knew I saw you giggling."

'You're shitting us," Iron Bull said, "Giggling?"

"Giggling."

Ellana crawled into her bedroll and pulled the cover over her head.


	9. No, Thank You.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana is not a fan of the well of sorrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When they first said Well of Sorrows, my immediate reaction was "NOPE".

Abelas was a tit. 

A scowling, stupidly handsome tit who had clearly gone to the school of "I'm better than everyone who isn't thousands of years old". Solas had taken a few classes there himself, but Ellana was still not prepared to deal with it. The heat of the Arbor Wilds and the bickering between Morrigan and Solas made her want to break things.

"You are not of my people," Abelas said, his gaze flickering darkly across her party, "I don't know what you are."

"I don't know how to make this any more clear," she said, "I don't want your stupid well. Take a good look at the thing on my hand and tell me if I look like I want more magic binding itself to me." She held up her palm and wiggled her fingers. The green light pulsed under her skin. Abelas looked more and more uneasy the longer he looked at her. Unlike Solas, he didn't seem to want to solve her mysteries. And unlike Solas, he probably had a good chance of figuring it out on his own.

He was bound as she was bound. Mythal. Nocturnal. Hircine. They were ultimately the same. Powerful beings who cared little for the tiny people they tricked into following them. Abelas was just as much a slave to his god as she was to hers. 

'Inquisitor---" Morrigan protested.

"No. We don't want it," she said, "Magic like that comes at a cost." She knew better than most. 

She liked Morrigan, but she didn't trust her half as far as she could throw her. Whatever knowledge the well contained, now that Ellana had seen the temple and felt its magic, it would change Morrigan. There would be some kind of terrible binding. No matter what Morrigan said, she would not do well under such a thing.

A curse, compulsion, geas. She would wither if she was bound to another's will. No one deserved that.

"You are uncultured and rude," Abelas said.

"You're not winning any prizes yourself," she said, "The more time we waste here, the closer Corypheus gets to despoiling your precious pond. We can bicker about manners or we can stop him."

Abelas looked surprised and suspicious. Well, too bad. She didn't care what he thought. She wasn't here to impress him. As long as he didn't attack, they could pretend to be friends.

But she did not want to be his friend. They already had one insufferable arrogant pretty elf in the party. They didn't need two. She didn't think she could handle two.

She knew she couldn't handle two. 

"If the well was my goal, do you really think I would have gone out of my way to do those stupid tile glowing light puzzles?" she asked, "Because if you do, you're sorely mistaken. What is it with you ancients and your ridiculous puzzles? Did worshipers actually waste their time on all of that? It's absurd. It doesn't even force you to rely on any special skills. You just have to be able to see and posses rudimentary puzzle solving skills."

At least Nocturnal's trials made sense. Walk in darkness and try not to die. She didn't make her step once on all the tiles in a room. Ellana's temper was still flaring at the frustration of the last hour. It had cost them precious, precious time, but stupid Solas had to be stupid smart again.

And he was right. Taking the time to complete the trials kept the ancient elves from immediately attacking them.

"I believe you," Abelas said at last. 

"Good," she snapped. She still wanted to smack him. 

"We will guide you through the temple," he continued, "Do no stray from the path or the alliance will end. You will not be allowed to despoil the Vir'Abelesan."

"I wouldn't touch it if you begged me to," she said.

"Inquisitor!" Morrigan protested, "You can not mean---" Her voice trailed off as Abelas turned to run. Morrigan transformed into a god damned bird and flew after him. Ellana pinched the bridge of her nose. The headache was coming on strong. 

"Why is nothing ever simple?" she asked.

An elvhen woman carrying a giant book and a staff muttered something Ellana would have sworn meant "fuck you" and limped out of the room. She paused to repeat the phrase, waiting for Ellana and her group to follow. Now she was sure of it. 

Whatever the woman said definitely meant "fuck you". Or possibly "go fuck yourself". Either way, Solas made no attempts to translate. He was curiously silent as they followed her through the temple. 

Solas was never quiet. He had an opinion on everything and had no qualms about sharing it. Loudly.

She shot him a sideways glance.

He couldn't be this awed to be in the presence of his idea of the real elf. He just couldn't. Something was going on. She didn't know what, and she knew she shouldn't care, but it was there, nagging at her. He was angry. And not for all the reasons he should be angry.

Corypheus, Abelas, Morrigan---she got the distinct impression it all faded into the background. Just seeing the temple soured his mood. Listening to Morrigan's attempts to explain away the presence of the Fen'Harel statues had made it even worse.

She did not understand that man.

Not even a little.

 

Thanks to Dagna, Samson's magic armor sputtered and died like a candle flame snuffed out in the wind. Thanks to Abelas and the ancient sentinels, the fight lasted all of two minutes. 

"The well is despoiled after all," Abelas said, his breaths coming in ragged.

"For the love of---no one's so much as touched it," she said.

"You're here," he said, "That's enough."

"Inquisitor, we are not leaving without the knowledge contained in the well," Morrigan said, "I have worked too hard and too long to just walk away."

Abelas sighed and leaned heavy on his giant hammer. 

"You completed the trials," he said, "You treated Mythal's temple with respect. I do not like it, but you have earned the right to drink." But he looked at Ellana when he said it. He looked at her as if she was even considering it.

She wanted to vomit.

"No," she said. "Without Samson---"

"Corypheus will still take the well," Morrigan said, "Do not pretend otherwise. He can not be allowed to claim whatever power remains. You know this is true." She was right. Of course she was. 

"You can't possibly know what you're asking," Ellana said.

She could barely cope with having two gods fighting for her soul. She couldn't bear adding another to the mix. And if she couldn't get back to her world, if she couldn't retrieve the orb for Nocturnal, she'd be stuck here. If she bound herself to Mythal, she would be at her mercy. She could only imagine what that would entail. 

"I'm not asking anything," Morrigan said, "I am the only one prepared to drink from the well. If it should be anyone at all, it should be me."

"If you want it so badly, I won't stop you. But remember, I warned you. Gifts like this are never truly gifts. You will regret it one day," she said. 

"You can not possibly understand," Abelas said, but he sounded surprised. Something sparked in his eyes, recognition. Understanding. She looked away, her throat suddenly very tight and her eyes very hot.

He did not know, but he knew. 

Her hands curled into fists. She felt the anchor spark against her fingers. The pain was immediate. She felt Abelas' gaze finally leave her.

As he turned to leave, Solas stopped him. She didn't understand what he said, he spoke more of the incomprehensible elvhen language. But when Solas pretended to translate, she smelled bullshit. 

"His name means sorrow," Solas said, "I told him I hoped he found a new name." Yes, because that was something he could only say in Elvhen. It required the delicate nuances of the mother tongue, but he was able to immediately translate it for the rest of them. 

Right, Solas. Ok.

Morrigan drank from the well. 

Corypheus broke through just in time to see his plans unravel. 

And once again, they had to run. They were swept through the eluvian only to find themselves back in Skyhold. Ellana felt like the end was coming.


	10. Because horses.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master Dennet didn't sign up for this.

"I've made a huge mistake," Master Dennet said. 

He stared at the Bog Unicorn and the Oath-Bound Steed, standing side by side, the rusted blades that pierced their skulls clinking against each other now and then. They had formed an instant camaraderie.

An eerie camaraderie.

"It's not that bad," Ellana said, "They're sweet."

She patted the bog unicorn on the shoulder to illustrate her claims. It nuzzled her hand. She angled her head away, the blade coming a little too close to her eyes for comfort. She reached over to pat the Oath-Bound steed. It wouldn't do to pet one and not the other.

"Not bad? They're undead," he said, "I don't know what you expect me to do with undead horses."

She didn't know either to be honest. They didn't seem to need food or water or sleep. They never seemed to tire. She would have thought it would be a nice change to have charges he didn't have to fuss over. 

"You had the pick of the finest steeds in the world and what did you choose?" Dennet asked, "Something dead. Something horrifying. Why am I even here?"

"It's not that bad, is it?" she asked.

"I think I might hate you a little," he said.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Imperial Warmbloods, Anderfel Coursers, Dalish bloody All-Breds, I even have Orlesian Coursers. Orlesian," he said, "I bought those damn fussy things on your order."

"I know," she said.

"And what do you ride?" he asked, "Every time. Every single time."

"I know," she said.

"Undead horses," he said, "What's the bloody appeal? They're skin and bones. Literally skin and bones. It can't be comfortable."

Both horses turned to stare at him. She didn't know, but in that moment, she could have sworn they understood everything he said. He stepped back another pace, hands clenched at his sides.

"If it helps, you don't have to do anything for them," she said, "I'm glad to take care of them myself." She tried to smile, but Dennet was not to be swayed from his mood. The Look he gave her was the same look Father wore after he caught her stealing. The same frustrated look of disappointment. If he was anything like him, he would be muttering about this for days.

She sighed.

"Just don't bring any more of them back," he said, "I don't care if it's the reanimated steed of Andraste herself. One more and I quit. Is that clear?"

She nodded. His face was a thundercloud.

She wondered how he felt about nuggalopes.


	11. Well, That Went Well.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas learns a secret.

Cole was curiously absent the night the Inquisitor went missing. Leliana did not seem even the slightest bit concerned.

"Do not disturb her," Leliana had said, "She will return in the morning."

Solas had been accused of many things in his life, but he had never heard it said he knew how to let things go. Something strange was going on, and he did not like being left out of the loop. The Inquisitor was important. Without her, they couldn't seal the breech. Without her, the Inquisition would crumble.

Sending her off alone was irresponsible. And foolish. 

"I trust Leliana's judgment," Cassandra said.

"I do not," Solas said.

Solas did not waver under her glare. Anything could happen to the Inquisitor. Cole, as skilled as he was, was no substitute for a full armed party. Worse still, it was a full moon. She would be an easy target in the snow.

Solas did not believe for one second she had bothered to tell Leliana. It was likely her spies had caught sight of her after the fact.

"We will wait for her to return," Cassandra said, "I do not like it, but the decision has already been made. If you can not trust Leliana's judgment, trust the Inquisitor's."

He didn't know how he managed to stop himself from laughing. Trust the Inquisitor's judgment? Perhaps occasionally, when there was no other option, but he was not in the habit of trusting people who purposefully lied to him. Especially when the lies were small and seemingly insignificant. Those were the worst. The needless lies. The unnecessary lies. 

Ellana Lavellan had been lying to them, very poorly, from the beginning. She was no more Dalish than Blackwall was. Her vallaslin was not even a passable copy. She knew even less of the elvhen language than even the youngest Dalish child. And her attempts to disguise her magic---Solas had not seen anyone fail quite so spectacularly before.

"Don't worry about, Ellana," Cassandra said, her voice softened, "She will be fine. I am sure she meant to tell you---"

Solas bristled under the new look she gave him. Sympathetic, knowing---no. He recoiled. His worry did not stem from anything other than a polite interest in the Inquisitor's well being. They were not---he was not---no. Just no. She had defaced priceless tomes for a foolish prank. It had taken days to sort everything out, and the covers would never be the same. He couldn't even begin to think of her as anything other than an annoyance, pretty face or not. 

"I don't understand," he said, 'Why would the Inquisitor mean to tell me anything?"

Cassandra tried to smile. His stomach suddenly felt like he had swallowed a stone. 

"Forgive me for saying this," she said, "But I am aware of your relationship."

"Relationship?" 

"Varric told me," she said.

Varric. Yes, of course, he did. Solas bit the inside of his cheek. He could cheerfully strangle that dwarf. 

"We are not in a relationship," he said, trying and failing to keep his tone calm, his voice even, "I am merely worried that the leader of the Inquisition has gone out into the night unprotected." 

Cassandra blanched.

"You are not together?" she asked, "You haven't? But you were seen---he said..." 

Solas didn't know what was worse, the suggestion he had seduced the Inquisitor or that Cassandra was so terribly shocked it wasn't true. 

"No," he said, "We are not. We were not. We were never. Varric is amusing himself at your expense." 

Her face flushed scarlet.

"I am going to kill him," she said.

"Please do."

He left her plotting Varric's death. At the very least, he could search for the Inquisitor in the Fade. He could commune with the nearby spirits to see if any of them knew what she was doing or why whatever she was doing was so important. 

 

Cole stared at her through the bars. Icicles had formed on the ceiling. It was so cold, she could feel it even through the heavy layers of her clothing and furs. Any other day and she would have been shivering. 

But it was late. The moon was high in the evening sky. Her skin had already started to itch.

"They will worry," he said.

She threw her weight against the door. The iron groaned but didn't move. It was strong enough. It would hold. She stripped off her coat and passed it to Cole through the bars. She pushed the heavy furs through too.

"They probably won't even notice we're gone," she said, "And if they do, it won't kill them."

"You are ashamed," he said.

"Yeah, well, turning into a mindless monster will do that to a person," she said, 'Do you remember what I told you?" She peeled off her shirt and then her pants and passed them to Cole. 

"Don't let you out when you're not a person. I won't let you hurt anyone," he said. He folded everything into a neat pile and then he sat on them. 

His smile was almost reassuring, but it was past the point she could truly feel reassured. Her skin burned. Her bones creaked, bending too far. Dark hair sprouted on the backs of her hands. She doubled over, the pain was too strong. 

Cole finally stepped out of the room. 

 

Though Solas searched, the spirits were restless. They did not linger near Skyhold, and those that did, had kept their distance from the Inquisitor. They would not say why, and he was reluctant to push. 

"Compassion is with her," a spirit of Duty said, as if that settled it, "Do not interfere."

"She will be fine," said a spirit of Faith.

A thought nagged at him. She had done something like this before. She had run off into the night and nearly gotten herself killed by red templars. They had found her ruined armor, and then found her, limping back to camp, bruised and scratched and wearing templar armor.

The moon had been full that night too, but at least in the Emerald Graves, she had the trees to hide her. The moonlight reflecting off the snow would make it impossible. What could be so important she would risk her life?

He was going to have a long talk with Cole. The spirit did not seem to understand the difference between helping and helping someone hurt themselves. 

He picked up the Inquisitor's trail near Haven. In the Fade, it was the same village he remembered, but in the real world, he imagined it was still partially buried under the snow. Her magic lead him into the lower level of the chantry. The dungeon where she had been kept after she stepped out of the breech.

Odd, he thought, that she would come here.

When he first spoke with her in the Fade, it was in Haven. When he told her he chose Haven because it was important to her, she had looked at him blankly. Haven was not important to her, she had said, it was just another place she hadn't been able to save. 

Cole surprised him at the base of the stairs.

"You shouldn't be here," Cole said. He was a shadow, still very much in the waking world.

"Cole, is the Inquisitor with you?" he asked.

"You should go," he said, "She doesn't want you to see."

"Why? What are you doing?" 

Cole's form seemed to flicker. 

"Just go," he said, "You can't be here right now."

"Cole," he said, "What are you hiding?" 

And then, he heard the screams. Not elven, not hers. They were wild, animalistic, and unfamiliar. Almost wolf but not quite. Almost elven, but not quite. The sound chilled him to the core.

For a long, terrible moment, he couldn't think. Cole tried to shove him, forgetting they were not both in the Fade. Solas felt his energy pass through him.

"Just go, please," Cole begged.

The screams grew louder, as if whatever it was could hear him. 

"But the Inquisitor," he said.

"She's fine, but she's angry," he said, "Please go." Cole tried to push him again, and this time, Solas stepped back. He retreated from the sound.

He woke, his heart pounding in his chest. 

 

Her mouth tasted like bile and her face was crammed between the iron bars like she'd tried to crawl through. Her left arm was stretched out above her, and bruised from the shoulder to her elbow. Her nails were broken, and deep gouges had been scratched into the stone floor.

But there was no blood that wasn't hers. 

She sighed as she rolled onto her back.

"Cole, I need my clothes, please," she said.

She heard the rustle of cloth and soft footsteps padding on the stone. Her shirt and pants were dropped unceremoniously on her head. She twitched, snatching it away from her eyes. 

"Hey," she said, "Watch it." 

She heard the sound of the metal key in the lock, the hinges creaking a protest as the door opened. She didn't look. She shook the shirt out and pulled it over her head, then, standing, she stepped into her pants. It was a bit of a trial though, her muscles felt like they'd been twisted up in knots. Her head ached. Worse than a hangover. Her eyes couldn't seem to snap everything into focus like they should have. 

She leaned against the bars for a moment while she waited for her head to stop spinning.

"It went better than I thought," she said.

When he didn't answer her, she turned to push the door open the rest of the way. Cole wasn't there waiting. Cole wasn't there at all. Instead, it was Solas. Bleary eyed, dirt smudged, grumpy faced Solas.

Damn it.

"I believe we have something to discuss," he said.

 

"Where's Cole?" she asked, as if he hadn't said anything at all.

He had rarely been this angry. He had rarely been this surprised. How could she be a werewolf? Of all things, how? And to hide it, she was impossible. Irresponsible. Stupid. Foolish. Stupid.

"Cole is elsewhere," he said, "I sent him away." He was upstairs with the horses. Solas had nearly broken his neck getting here. He was not only not in the best of moods, he was exhausted. 

"Why are you here?" she asked.

"When you ran off by yourself, again, some of us were worried," he said, "I admit, it was foolish. The real question is why are you here? Oh, but I already have the answer. The Herald of Andraste is a werewolf. Who would possibly believe such a thing? It's worse than one of Varric's terrible novels."

She looked like a beast caught in a trap, ready to gnaw off her own leg to escape. He tossed her coat at her face. It was quite cold and she was shivering. She stuffed her arms into the sleeves of the coat and pulled it tight around her.

"I'm not a werewolf," she said. 

He laughed. 

"Then I must have imagined it all. Of course. That is the only explanation. I dreamed it all in the Fade, and when I woke, I was confused. It's purely a coincidence I happened to find you here, at the very end of the transformation," he said,"Do not mock me. I know what I saw."

She had the good grace to look away. She had to have known there was no denying the truth this time. She wore the evidence on her skin, her hands, her face.

When she took a breath, it came in raspy. 

"It's not something I'm proud of," she said.

"You have an absurd number of researchers, mages, and scholars working for you and it doesn't cross you mind to use them to find a cure?" he asked. How had she stumbled into power? How? 

"There is no cure," she said, "It's a curse."

"A curse can be broken," he said, "I brought horses. We will ride back to Skyhold and discuss it further after breakfast."

It was just a matter of finding the right elements. There was always a way. Cole should have told him. He should have said something sooner. 

"Did you tell anyone?" she asked.

"Will you try to kill me if I say no?" It wasn't fair of him, but he was too angry to care about things like fairness. Her actions could have cost people their lives. 

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped.

Clearly, she didn't know the meaning of the word.


	12. Alchemy and Other Mysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana is not Adan's favorite person.

Adan stared at her as though she'd just asked him to stick his arm in a pile of warm horse shit.

"An alchemy table," she repeated, "I need to make better potions. The healing vials are ineffective."

He looked like he wanted to slap her. 

"I already told you how to order new potions," he said.

"No, I want to make them myself," she said. She had enough imp root, wheat, blisterwort, and monarch butterfly wings to make a few small vials, but she was out of everything else. She should have brought vampire dust and nirnroot, but she wasn't thinking. She wished she'd thought to bring frost salts or ice wraith teeth. Or a daedra heart. Gods, for a daedra heart. 

"I'm not letting you muck around with my alchemy equipment," Adan said, "You wouldn't know where to start. And there is nothing wrong with my potions."

"I most certainly do know where to start. We take more damage than your potions can heal. They're too weak," she said, "And I can only carry eight at a time. They need to be stronger. You need to brew them a little longer. Put in more of your ingredients. Don't be so stingy." In their current state, they were only a little better than drinking nothing at all. 

In retrospect, it was probably not the best way to put it. She found herself shoved out into the snow, the door shut firmly in her face. 

"That went well," Solas said. He had seen everything from his spot by the shack. He was still barefooted. In the snow. How did he stand it?

"Do you have an alchemy table?" she asked.

"I do not."

"Adan's our only alchemist, isn't he?" she asked.

"So it would seem."

Unlike Skyrim, where almost everyone was a budding alchemist, Thedas hoarded its alchemy equipment like it was precious, precious gold. She didn't understand it.

She wondered if she could improvise using something from the kitchen. Did Haven even have a kitchen? She had yet to find one, but with this many people to feed, there had to be something like it. They couldn't all be cooking over campfires.

She sighed and knocked on the door.

"I didn't mean to insult you. There's nothing wrong with your potions," she said, "I just need them to be better."

"What a glowing apology," Solas said, "It has been some time since I heard anything quite so compelling."

"You shut up," she said.

"Far be it from me to criticize," he said.

"Adan, please," she said, "If you let me use the alchemy lab, I'll never ask you for anything else ever again." She didn't want to ask him in the first place, and she wouldn't have if there had been an alternative. She made her own potions. She didn't rely on grumpy researchers who had better things to do than boil up a basic restore health potion.

She waited. The door opened. Adan stood in the doorway, arms blocking the entrance.

"You'll hire someone else to do this godforsaken job," he said, with a finality that shocked her. There was no room for argument.

"If that's what you want," she said, "I'll do the job myself if that's what it takes."

It shouldn't have been possible for his face to look any more severe than it did, but he managed. He stepped to the side, just enough for her to squeeze by. 

Finally! She wondered if she could buy any of his ingredients. This world had bears, it stood to reason she could purchase bear claws. And chicken eggs. Maybe more butterfly wings. Maybe bees and beehive husks. 

"If you damage anything," he warned, "I won't be held responsible. And you'll pay for the replacement." She nodded. She should probably ask Josephine to purchase another lab anyway. They probably had the funds for one small table. If they could purchase jars of bees for Sera's special grenades, they could certainly afford that. 

Adan left the door open. No doubt he was ready to kick her out when whatever disaster he'd imagined occurred. But the joke was on him. She knew exactly what she was doing.

The equipment was slightly different than what she was used to, but the differences weren't enough to discourage her. She waited for him to arrange them to his liking, trying very hard not to elbow him out of the way. She measured out her blisterwort and monarch butterfly wings while he fussed. She wondered if she should add anything to it, but she didn't want to risk any negative interactions. The potion had to be perfect.

"Where's your elf root?" he asked.

"Don't need it," she said, "It's rubbish anyway."

He wrinkled his nose, but didn't argue.

"What kind of mushroom is that supposed to be?"

"The kind that doesn't hover over my shoulder distracting me," she said.

"The glass is delicate," he protested, "You have to be careful."

"It's a dried mushroom. It's not going to break it."

He huffed.

"You can't add butterfly wings to a potion anybody will want to drink," he said.

"Then they can die in pain on the battlefield," she said, "This works much better than that elf root shit." And she was going to have to save it for an emergency, because it was the last of her blisterwort. She hadn't found a suitable substitute. Most of the mushrooms Clan Lavellan had encountered were poisonous.

"If the potions are so bloody terrible, why don't you bother to upgrade them?" he snapped.

"Isn't that the alchemist's job?" she asked.

His face turned an unattractive shade of purple. 

"Sorry," she said. She wasn't sorry. Why did she have to do all the tedious alchemy work only to turn it over to some one to mess up? Upgrade a potion? That was nonsense. You didn't upgrade a potion. You improved it. And if you knew how to improve it, you didn't wait for someone to tell you to do it. He was wasting her time if he knew this and let her flounder in battle with inferior health vials. 

The concoction bubbled, the earthy tang of the blisterwort overpowering. It made Adan's hut smell like home. It made the worst of the tension that had settled in her shoulders ease. 

"That smells vile," he said. He looked doubtful, and still, terribly offended. 

"But it works," she said, "That's all that matters."


	13. Burn all the Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.

Vivienne laughed. The inner circle had gathered around the table they had used for Varric's card games. And then, Solas had promptly ruined the rest of Ellana's day. Or possibly the rest of her life. She was still undecided.

"Of course, darling, of course," Vivienne said, "Why wouldn't the Inquisitor be a werewolf?"

"That certainly explains a few things," Josephine muttered.

"You're all kinds of weird, Boss, you know that right?" Iron Bull asked. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt.

"It's been mentioned," she said. I hate you, Solas, she thought.

Hircine probably thought it was hilarious. If she ever made it back to Skyrim, she was finding away to revoke the curse. And if she had time, she was punching her werewolf brethren in their faces for tricking her. All of them. 

Except for Farkas. He had been a little nicer to her than the rest. Not friendly, but not hostile. It wasn't his fault she let Aela and Skjor talk her into it.

At the time, it had seemed like such a good idea.

Cullen stared at her as though he thought her head was going to pop off and an abomination was going to crawl out of her neck hole and slaughter them all. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn his hand was on his sword, hidden under the table.

"You should have said something sooner," he said.

"What was I supposed to say?" she asked.

"I don't know, but a warning would have been nice," he said, "We could have taken precautions."

That was true. She hadn't trusted him not to try to kill her. She still wasn't sure if she could. 

"Cullen is right," Cassandra said, "It was foolish to hide something like this. It was dangerous. Someone could have been killed. I trusted you." Her hands balled into fists on the table top, but thankfully, she didn't move beyond that. Ellana expected worse.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I couldn't tell you."

"After everything we've been through, you think we would---" Cassandra started to ask.

"Yes," Ellana said, cutting her off, "I'm not used to trusting people with this. They tend to react badly. But I should have given you a chance." No, she shouldn't have. This was a mistake. Solas was an idiot. 

"What's done is done," Leliana said, "We can only move forward."

Leliana was the only one who hadn't had any kind of reaction to Solas' announcement. Ellana wouldn't have been surprised to learn she knew everything the entire time. She was the spymaster, it wouldn't make sense for her not to know.

"We will need to make adjustments," Solas said, "I have sent out for the texts I believe will aid our research. If you have any ideas, please, speak with Helisma. She will be assisting me."

Ellana sighed.

"This is a waste of time," she said, "This isn't something you can just cure. It's a curse." Not just any curse. It was a curse from a daedric prince. Those tended to be a little more binding than most.

"And as I said before, curses can be broken," Solas said, "For someone who has walked in the Fade and traveled forward in time, you have a remarkable lack of imagination. You have done the impossible. We shall do it again." 

If it was even possible, the only ones who would know were the Companions. She wouldn't find answers here. She needed the stupid orb. She needed to go home. 

"Yes, well," Vivienne said, "Did either of you stop to think what a scandal like this could cost us?"

"It may have crossed my mind once or twice," Solas said.

"As long as you are aware. I will reach out to some of my people," she said, as she stood, "Perhaps we will find something before the backlash hits, but I doubt it." She left, leaving Ellana feeling suitably chastised. They were going to have to face Corypheus soon. He would not wait forever.

"I have a headache," Josephine said. She eased her chair back carefully, the scrape of the wooden legs against the stone making her wince. The Look she gave Ellana did nothing to disguise her fear.

Great. So now Josephine was afraid of her. 

Cassandra was furious. Dorian looked like he was smelling the most disgusting smell in all the worlds. Blackwall couldn't seem to look at her, which was funny because of what he'd done and the secrets he had kept. Sera looked at her like she had grown a second head. Ellana had expected that though.

And Varric was two parts fascinated, one part horrified, and one part plotting changes to the secret book he was writing about the Inquisition. She could picture it now. Werewolf of Andraste. There would be terrible illustrations. 

Cole was hiding somewhere, but Ellana suspected he'd pop up if someone remembered he was missing. It was not his fault Solas had discovered her secret, but he retreated as if he was responsible. Putting him in that position had been thoughtless of her. She was the only one to blame.

Cullen pushed his chair back from the table.

"I need time to think," he said. He left.

"As do I," Cassandra said.

"I'm sorry," Ellana said again.

"That is not good enough," Cassandra said. She left.

The room cleared. Ellana remained. Solas remained. Leliana remained.

"I believe I told you to leave this alone," Leliana said, her gaze shifting to Solas.

"So you did," he said.

"And now, we have a problem," Leliana said, "Did you not think how they would react? We are on the eve of a terrible battle. There is no time to research a cure. This will be a distraction."

"It will harden their resolve," he said, "They will endure."

"I hope you are right," she said. But her tone said otherwise. 

"How long have you known?" Ellana asked.

"From the very first time you changed after joining the Inquisition," she said, "You did a poor job of hiding it. I would not be your spy master if I was anything less than observant." 

In another world, Leliana would have belonged to Nocturnal. She would have been more than just a Nightingale in name. She would have delighted the daedric prince. 

 

The rest of the day was awkward silences and moments where people saw her coming and took great pains to remove themselves from her line of sight.

Someone had told Dagna. The arcanist was so excited she could barely speak when Ellana dared step into the Undercroft to make adjustments to her armor and bow. She couldn't believe her good fortune.

She wanted details.

She wanted samples.

She wanted---no.

Ellana almost didn't make it out in one piece. She wasn't sure Dagna hadn't managed to pluck a few hairs off the back of her head when she hunched over the grind stone to sharpen her daggers. She felt a pinch, but when she looked, Dagna was scrutinizing the toe of her boot like it was the most interesting new thing she had discovered.

Ellana took it as a sign the day wasn't going to get any better. She skipped dinner and turned in early. Hang the day and everything in it. 

 

"I think it's time we finished our talk."

Alduin's voice was wrong. He melted away, and in his place, hands folded behind his back, his expression severe, stood an image of Solas. Ellana took a breath. She was not in Sovngarde. It was the Fade.

Of course. How could she have forgotten?

"This is a new tactic, demon," she said, "What do you want?"

He paused.

"I am sorry to disappoint you," he said, "I am not a demon."

"Solas," she said, doubtful.

"Yes," he said.

"And you just want to talk," she said.

"We've talked in the Fade before," he said, "You remember."

Oh. She tensed. Probably not a demon then. Somehow, it didn't make her feel any better. 

"What did you want?" she asked, "I don't want to talk about the damn curse again." She'd been prodded for what felt like hours. She was tired of disapproving stares and thinly veiled insults.

"Dirthamen was the elvhen god of secrets," he said, "Or rather, the Dalish revere him as such."

She sheathed her daggers.

"I know who Dirthamen is," she said. Barely. She had learned just enough to pass for a Dalish elf in a human city. There hadn't been time for advanced studies.

"While he was searching for his brother, Falon'Din, he encountered two ravens, one called Fear and the other called Deceit. They tried to trick him," he said, "But in the end, they were outmatched. He bound them to his will and forced them to lead him to his lost brother."

He stopped beside her, turning to look at the Whalebone bridge and the Hall of Valor.

"You dropped into my dreams to tell me a fable," she said.

When he smiled, it didn't reach his eyes. When he chuckled, there was no mirth.

"No, I did not drop into your dreams to tell you a fable," he said, "I came to ask you a question."

"About Dirthamen," she said. 

"About you," he said. He was toying with her. She didn't much like the feeling. She didn't like the look in his eyes either.

"What about me?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "What about you? Where do I even begin?"

"If it's that vexing you could start nowhere," she said, "In case you hadn't noticed, I was in the middle of something." Killing Alduin again, avoiding thoughts of her doomed mission, pretending it was possible she could steal the orb and go home. What she wouldn't have given for a proper sweet roll and some good, strong Nord mead. Or Argonian Bloodwine.

"Tell me, lethallan," he said, "Why did you try to steal the orb from Corypheus? And more importantly, what, or rather, who sent you across the Veil?"

"I---what?" It was as if the whole world stopped. 

"I am tired of dancing around the subject," he said, "This is not your world. Do not insult me with a denial. I know."

She didn't say anything. When he tilted his head, she stared back at him. What was she supposed to say? Yes, I tried to steal the orb for the daedric prince I bound my soul to, and I have no idea what she intends to do with it---that would go over well. 

"Why do you call me lethallan if you think so poorly of me?" she asked.

"You surprised me," he said.

"I surprised you," she said, "That's not a reason."

"When I asked for your help, you gave it without hesitation," he said, "You tried to save my friend. I will never forget that. You have shown a subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected. You are not what I thought you would be."

She did not know what to say. She was not wise. She was not subtle. He knew that. 

"What did you think I would be?" she asked.

"That is unimportant," he said, "You are wasting time. Tell me the truth." 

"This is ridiculous," she said. It was a nightmare. He would not be content until he had all her secrets, and when he had them, he was going to use them against her. That was the way of things. She had just forgotten for a little while. 

"Perhaps I should tell you another story," he said, "And you may tell me how close I am to the truth."

"I think I'd like to wake up now," she said.

There was that smile again. 

"But then I would have to share my suspicions with our dear spymaster," he said, "Would you prefer it? I imagine she would have many questions. She may have known you are a werewolf, but I doubt she suspects more than that."

Karliah would have been better suited to this---she wouldn't have gotten caught. And Brynjolf could have talked his way out of anything. His voice was like warm honey. Even Solas would have been willing to drink it up. Why had Nocturnal sent Ellana when she knew how poorly she was with deception?

Her chest felt tight and she could seem to breathe deep enough.

"Spit it out," she said.

Solas nodded his head, his smile fading. 

"Once there was a silly young girl who bound herself to a creature she didn't understand. This mysterious creature or god, if you will, decided to make use of the foolish thing and sent her to another world to meddle in things she should not. While under the guise of a Dalish elf, she tried to steal a magical orb from an undead magister and wound up marking herself with ancient magic. Then, she tried to hide the truth. That foolish girl is you, Ellana. How close to the mark did I come?"

Her mouth went dry. He was completely, frustratingly correct, and he could see it on her face.

"You have found me out," she said.

"Why?" he asked, "Why would you do such a thing?" His hands went up, and for a second, she thought he might hit her or shake her. She stepped back, and he lowered them again. He seemed to try to calm himself. 

He turned back toward the bridge, his back stiff and straight, his shoulders squared. Imperious, smug, self righteous...he would never understand. 

She should not have said anything. She should have left him wondering.

"The part about the girl binding herself to something she didn't understand," she said, "Have you ever tried to say no to a god?"

It was his turn to say nothing. He shoulders lost a bit of that sharp edge. His back lost some of that ramrod stiffness.

"It is not a thing easily done," she said.

"What do you intend to do with the orb if you are able to retrieve it?" he asked.

"I'll go home," she said.

"And your mysterious god, what will they do with the orb?" he asked, "How will they use it's power?"

"I can't begin to guess how her mind works." She didn't want to know. Nocturnal was an enigma. She kept her secrets close. 

"And who is she?" he asked, "What is her name?" The air seemed to hum with nervous energy. His face was expressionless, but underneath there was a current. 

"What will you do if I tell you?" she asked.

"For a while I thought it might be Dirthamen," he said, "Your bindings are similar to the magic binding Abelas and the other sentinels, not similar enough to mark you as Mythal's. The magic in Dirthamen's temple was much closer. At the very least, it is kindred."

She hesitated.

"You can feel it?" she asked.

"I studied the anchor while you slept," he said, "But that is not all I studied."

She didn't like the sound of that 

"Then you knew from the beginning," she said, her voice flat. He had been toying with her. All this time.

"I suspected," he said, "But nothing was clear. Not until Adamant and then later, Haven. Two masters, Corypheus had said. One of them, I assume, is the one who cursed you with lycanthropy. But the other was uncertain. I am more interested in the one that mystery. Who sent you is more important than who cursed you."

It did not make her feel any better.

"Who sent you here?" he asked.

She felt her resolve shatter. He already knew too much.

"Nocturnal," she said, "The Night Mistress. Lady Luck."

"I have never heard of such a god," he said, "But you will not give her the orb."

"You think I have a choice."

"There is always a choice," he said, "I suspect her power does not reach past the Veil or she would have tried to take the orb herself. As long as you remain, you are free of her influence."

"Why would I want to stay?" she asked. He couldn't be serious. 

"To be free," he said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. A concept so simple a child would have grasped it, immediately. 

But he was wrong. There was nothing simple about the ties that bound her to Nocturnal. There was nothing simple about choosing to stay in the world under the Veil. 

"This place is a nightmare," she said, "It's not a world, it's a prison. All of this---I'm not even a mage and I feel like I'm suffocating."

"You still have the nerve to pretend---"

"Magic is different where I'm from," she interrupted, "You study to become a mage. I haven't so I'm not. Anyone and everyone can cast spells."

His breath seemed to catch in his throat. The look in his eyes softened. It was almost wistful. 

"It was like that here once too," he said, "Regardless, you don't know what Nocturnal intends. Giving her the orb is too dangerous. You can't risk an entire world and millions of lives just because you want to go home."

He didn't get it. And how could he. This was his home. This was his world. He couldn't possibly understand what it was like. It was like drowning, clawing for air she could never reach. 

"Are you going to tell Leliana and Cassandra?" she asked. She couldn't have another conversation like that with Cassandra. She was still hurt. She couldn't take another terrible truth. Their friendship would not survive it. Ellana's fault again. 

"You have a choice to make," he said, "Close the breach, give me the orb, and I will keep your secret. Or try to give the orb to your god and die."

"You're going to kill me," she said.

"If I have to," he said.

This was Solas, the man who needed at least one warrior and one other mage to keep him alive in a dragon fight. This was the man who didn't have enough sense to run away when the dragon set the ground ablaze. Solas, the man who always managed to just miss casting the barrier around himself when he dared cast it at all, was going to kill her if she didn't give him the orb. 

Somehow, she wasn't terribly worried.

"Nocturnal doesn't destroy worlds," she said, "You don't have to worry. She isn't that kind of dangerous."

"It doesn't matter what she is, she has no rights to the orb," he said, "It must remain here."

"With you, I suppose," she said, "Of course. I understand."

"I doubt that."

"You want the power of the orb for yourself, never mind it almost killed me," she said, "That kind of power wasn't meant for people like us. Look what happened when Corypheus tried to use it. It will destroy you."

"I appreciate your concern, but it is unnecessary," he said.

Was this his goal all along? Was this why he stayed to help the Inquisition? He wanted to get his hands on a powerful, mysterious artifact. Her breath rushed out, her lungs deflating. All this time, she thought he was the wise one, but he was just as foolish as the rest of them. 

"Don't be stupid," she said. 

"It won't hurt me," he said, "You have nothing to fear."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"How?" she asked, "You studied the anchor. You should know better than this."

"I do know, but not because I studied the anchor," he said, pausing, "I know because it's my orb."

She laughed until she realized he wasn't laughing with her.

"You're serious," she said.

"And now you know my secret," he said, "I am Fen'Harel. I am the Dread Wolf."

The Dalish equivalent to Mehrunes Dagon or Molag Bol or Boethiah or Vaermina. Solas, the hobo apostate. Solas, the keeper of the world's ugliest sweater. Solas with his head always in the clouds and his nose in the most boring books written on this side of the Veil. That Solas. Him. 

He was the Dread Wolf?

She laughed until she cried.

He disapproved. Mightily.

"You are most certainly not the Dread Wolf," she said, when she could finally catch her breath. She had met gods. He was no god. He was small. He was mortal. He was a normal person with normal magic. He did not crackle and thunder with power and impossible riddles.

"You surprise me again," he said. But from his tone, she doubted he meant it as a compliment. 

He was not the Dread Wolf. He just wasn't. No. 

No. 

"If you're the Dread Wolf, you don't need my help at all," she said, "You can claim the orb at any time."

His only answer was a scowl. She hadn't thought his back could get any stiffer, but it did. If a strong wind hit him, he'd snap in half.

"That's what I thought," she said.

"I slept, dreaming for countless ages. When I awoke, I was weak. I did not have the strength to unlock the orb and restore my power."

A doubt nagged at her, tiny at first, but it grew. 

"And what, Corypheus stole your orb, and you want it back?"

"The truth is much simpler," he said, "I gave him the orb because I believed he had the power to unlock it. I thought he would die trying. I was wrong. He survived, and now, you bear my anchor on your palm."

"You gave him---" She didn't believe him. She didn't believe him. She didn't believe him. But it explained everything. His knowledge of ancient elvhen history, his interactions with Abelas, his sweater...everything. 

She believed him. She did. 

Solas was the Dread Wolf. 

Worse, he was the Dread Wolf and he had told her he was the Dread Wolf. She was going to die. He was going to kill her.

He was going to try.

"Let's say I believe you," she said, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Who would believe you?" he asked, "You've already proven yourself a liar. You hid the werewolf curse. You lied about being a mage. Should you try to tell anyone who I am, I believe you would find yourself in an uncomfortable position."

He wouldn't.

"No one would believe you," she said. 

"I can be very convincing," he said. 

They would believe him. She had lied to them many times over and he appeared only to have told them the truth. If anything, he brought her lies to light. Cassandra would probably take him at his word. 

"What do you want?" she asked.

"You will close the breach, you will return the orb to me, and do nothing else," he said, "That is all. What you choose to do with your life beyond that is your business. I will not reveal your secret."

She didn't believe that for a second, but what choice did she have?


	14. Climbing out the Window Doesn't Sound Half Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana doesn't care to choose a specialization class and, like a good friend, Dorian brings wine.

"So," Dorian said, passing the bottle of wine, "Have you decided on a specialization?"

Leliana had ambushed her earlier about the same thing. She needed to choose between Artificer, Assassin, or Tempest. Now. Please.

No. 

Ellana refilled her glass and set the bottle on the desk between them. The red liquid sloshed over the edge when she lifted it. She took a long drink.

"I'll take that as a no," Dorian said.

"That's why I like you," she said, "You're very perceptive."

"I'm glad someone noticed," he said, "Certain people who have names that rhyme with Bolas and Bivienne seem to think I'm nothing more than a pretty face."

"Pfft," she said.

"That's what I said," he said, "So this specialization thing---"

She groaned.

"I'm not interested," she said, "But they just keep pushing."

"Why not, if you don't mind me asking? Your trainers can't be weirder than mine."

"Want to put some coin on that?" she asked. 

Kihm, Heir, and Three-Eyes were weird, but that wasn't the issue. She had no desire to learn about traps. She didn't care about mixing fire or ice in a bottle and smashing it on herself. And the assassin class took her too far down the Dark Brotherhood path. It left her mind unsettled.

"If you don't choose someone, I think our dear spymaster may take things into her own hands," he said, "Can't you just, I don't know, pick one out of a hat or something? You can pretend to care for a day or two and then go back to ignoring it. That way everyone's happy, and I don't have to hear about how contrary you are."

"Why should I?" she asked. She eyed her glass. Hadn't she just filled it? It was almost empty. She poured another generous helping.

"Because I'm tired of everyone coming to me as if I can convince you," he said.

"Tell them to fuck off," she said. The wine was mysteriously perfect. Not too sweet. Not too bitter. Surprisingly strong. She wondered where he'd found it and if there were more bottles. 

"Would you like to know what our resident apostate hobo wants you to do?"

"No," she said. But he would tell her anyway, and then Solas would get impatient and tell her himself. Several times, the volume increasing. And she would have to repeat herself. They would argue. Nothing would get resolved, and the arguments would drive Blackwall in to the barn. They'd have another complete set of elaborate dinning room chairs by the end of the week. 

To be honest, a new set of chairs wasn't the worst thing that could happen. 

Dorian snatched the bottle away to refill his glass, and when he was finished, he left it just out of her reach. Dick.

"I think I shall tell you what Solas thinks anyway," he said, "He said to tell you rift magic would be a natural complement to your skill set."

"I bet he did," she said.

"Then he said he hopes you at least opened the book he left you, because if you learn to cast your own barrier spells, you'll be more effective in battle," he said, "Everything else that followed was drowned out by screams of his poor sweater, begging me to grant it a merciful death."

She snorted, almost choking. And then Josephine would have killed her for spitting wine all over their reports. Choosing a stupid specialization class would have been the least of her worries.

"I dare you," she said. She doubted it would do any good though. She suspected Solas had trunks upon trunks upon trunks full of those beige sweaters. He'd just toss the burned one out and pull on an identical one. For all they knew, it was magically warded against sabotage.

"Vivienne agrees about the barrier spell by the way," Dorian said, "She's planning an intervention with your hobo admirer as we speak."

"Lovely," she said, "Is this why you're plying me with alcohol?"

"It's for both our sakes," he said. 

"We're probably too tipsy to risk climbing out the window," she said.

"Most certainly."

The sharp rap on the door ended the conversation. She finished her glass while Vivienne's voice called to her from outside. The rapping on the door continued, and Solas' voice joined Vivienne's. Open the door, Inquisitor, we must speak with you, blah blah magic lessons blah blah irresponsible to pretend blah blah no.

"I suppose I should answer that," she said. She probably shouldn't have had that last glass of wine. She should probably make an attempt to remember what she did with that stupid barrier book. At the very least, she should make sure no one can find it and make her read it.

Dorian shrugged.

"If you want to hide under the bed, I'll tell them you climbed out the window," he said.

"Maybe," she said. She'd have been lying if she said she wasn't considering it. But there were probably horrible little spiders waiting for her. Probably poisonous. Probably possessed by demons and sentient and still mad about the breach. Probably. 

Dorian poured the last of the bottle into his glass. The door opened before she could make a decision. She heard furious footsteps on the stairs. 

"That's your cue, darling," he said.


	15. Cheese

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party keeps finding weird things and dead bodies.

There was a skeleton, several empty wine bottles, several cheese wheels, and some very small, perfectly formed people made out of the same cheese. It was only slightly less disturbing than the six or seven bloody bear heads pinned to a natural rock wall in the Emerald Graves. Or the naked elf warrior paintings that looked a little too much like Solas to be a coincidence.

Everything in this world was bizarre. 

“Yeah, I don’t want to know,” Sera said. She climbed back down the ladder. 

“Me neither,” Ellana said.

“Why, what’s up there,” Blackwall asked.

“Just more of the same weird,” Sera said, “Don’t ask.”

“Well, now I have to know,” he said. He waited for Ellana to get to the bottom before he started up.

“Your funeral,” Sera said.

“I think I’ll stay here,” Dorian said.

“Good call,” Ellana said.

“It’s not more bear heads, is it?” he asked, looking slightly green.

Ellana shook her head. That would have been insanity well beyond her tolerance level. They would have had to bring the heads all the way from the Hinterlands or the Emerald Graves. There were no bears in the Western Approach.

Thank the gods.

Blackwall made a loud, rude noise.

“It’s just cheese,” he said. Weird cheese left out in the sun on ruined tower in the desert. Because that's normal. Of course, it is. 

“It can’t be,” Dorian said, “That’s not weird enough.”

“Keep looking,” Ellana shouted.

“I don’t see anyth---oh wait, there it is,” Blackwall said, “They were right. It’s weird.”

Dorian sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. He seemed to be counting to ten, but Ellana wasn’t sure. The language wasn’t familiar.

“Just tell me what it is so we can move on,” he said.

“Cheese people,” Blackwall said, “And a skeleton. And empty wine bottles.” She didn't know how anyone could carve such perfect figures out of cheese. She didn't know why anyone would. And why would they come to the Western Approach to do it? The sand alone was enough of a deterrent. And the heat. It was like the Hissing Wastes only with Darkspawn and bandits.

“Ok, then,” Dorian said.

“Told you not to ask,” Sera said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dead bear heads in the Emerald Graves seriously creeps me out.


	16. What Ails You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana gets sick.

"Elfroot and spindleweed, it's an old Dalish trick," Dalish said. She winked. 

Ellana should have been in bed. 

"I'll keep it in mind," she said, but she was lying. The frequency with which everyone and their grandmother recommended elfroot as a cure all was alarming. As far as she could tell, the only positive physical effect occurred when you dried it and smoked it.

It mellowed you out, but that was all.

She was waiting for Cabot's secret, special remedy, when Varric found her. He pulled up a chair and sat across from her. He set the jar on the table between them. 

"I am not eating pickled eggs," Ellana said. 

When she sneezed, she felt like her face was going to pop. She couldn't breathe through her nose, her chest hurt, and her throat felt like someone had tried to shred it with one of those fancy Orlesian cheese graters.

Varric shoved the horrible jar of horrible eggs at her. They weren't supposed to be that vivid pink color. They weren't supposed to look like bloated, dragon eyes. 

"You want to feel better, don't you?" he asked.

"Pickled eggs don't cure diseases," she said. Charred skeever hide, hawk feather, mudcrab chitin, and good old fashioned vampire dust---those ingredients cured sickness. Not pickled eggs. Not ever.

"Don't eat that crap," Iron Bull said, "If you want to feel better, take my advice. Get drunk and sleep it off. Works every time." He had been eaves dropping from his corner. 

Varric snorted.

"Try the eggs first," he said, "And if it doesn't help, drink yourself into a stupor."

"Vinegar doesn't cure colds," Dalish said, "You need herbs and a good pipe."

"If by herbs, you mean ale," Iron Bull interrupted, "Then you're right. You need something so strong it'll curl your eyebrows."

She wanted to die. Her body hated her. Her friends hated her. Everything hated everything. How could this world not have giant mudcrabs and vampires? 

"I'm not doing any of that," she said, "The eggs smell like draugr, and I have things I have to do. Being drunk isn't an option." She would have sold her soul for a cure disease potion. She would have sold Varric's soul. Or Iron Bull's. Or all of them combined.

"The smoke will clear out your lungs," Dalish said.

Ellana could feel the blood pulsing in the veins in her face. It hurt. Her mouth tasted like bitter bile.

"Said no one, ever," Varric said, "I'm telling you, pickled eggs are a sure thing. Countless generations of the Tethras family line can attest to that. It always works."

Iron Bull leaned over. He set a a mug of dark ale on the table and slid it towards her. He grinned.

"I promise what's in this glass tastes a hell of a lot better than Varric's pickled eggs," he said.

Dalish snorted.

"Not everything can be cured with a mug of ale," she said, "Trust me, Lavellan, if you don't have a pipe, just chew a bit of fresh elfroot and spindleweed. You'll feel better by morning."

She shut her eyes and tried to breathe. It was like trying suck air through a block of soft cheese. She could find hawk feathers somewhere in this world. And rats were just small skeevers. That would work as a substitute, wouldn't it? She could make a cure disease potion out of Orlesian rats. Couldn't she?

Where was Cabot with his mysterious cure?

"I appreciate the help," she said, "But I'm already trying something."

Iron Bull took his drink back.

"Suit yourself," he said. He drained the mug.

"If you change your mind, come see me," Dalish said, "I have just the thing."

"Thanks, I'll think about it," she said. She wouldn't. Not really. Manahon had gotten her to try special elfroot pipeweed once before they left for the Conclave and it was a disaster. She'd nearly choked on her own tongue. Everyone laughed. There was crying, mostly hers. Lavellan children would probably tell the story for the rest of eternity.

"You really do sound terrible," Varric said.

"I feel terrible," she said. If she didn't know better, she would have said she was dying. Why did no one have any vampire dust? This world had zombies. Any world that had zombies in it should have vampires as well.

If Cabot's mystery remedy didn't work, she didn't know what she was going to do. She couldn't lay flat. She couldn't sit propped up in bed. She had to sit up perfectly straight or stand up and walk around, and if she didn't, she felt like she was downing in her own snot. 

Gods she hated Thedas.

"Come on," Varric said, as he opened the jar. He fished out a horrible pink egg and held it in front of her face like it was a sweet smelling rose. She was going to vomit, "It's guaranteed to make you feel better---"

"Shut up, Tethras, I've got this covered," Cabot said. He appeared from out of nowhere, tea cup in hand. He set it in front of her. Steam billowed from the amber colored liquid. Gods bless you, Cabot, you beautiful, grumpy bastard. 

She could have kissed him. 

"Tea won't cure the common cold," Varric said, but he dropped the disgusting thing back into the jar and sealed it.

"It'll do better than eggs," Cabot said.

She couldn't taste anything, and she couldn't smell anything other than the vinegar from Varric's jar, but it felt good sliding down her throat. 

"What is it?" she asked, when she could almost breathe.

"Hot tea, honey, and Fereldan whiskey," he said, "When you're done, get out of my bar. I don't want you infecting all of my paying customers."

Iron Bull laughed.

"What did I tell you," he said, "All you need is a good, strong drink." Cabot rolled his eyes. He muttered as he made his way back to his post. Ellana's ears didn't feel much better than the rest of her, so she missed most of what he said. It was probably for the best.

"Just try one egg," Varric said, "If you don't feel better, I won't bother you again."

She sipped her tea and pretended she couldn't hear him.


	17. Maybe It Is Useful. Maybe.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana tells Solas a thing or two about the Dalish.

She was bored, the book Solas wanted her to read was long and written in a language she barely understood, and she was badly in need of a distraction. Anything to take her away from the subject of barriers and spirit magic and magical theory. 

So, she had to ask. 

"Why do you hate the Dalish?"

"I do not hate them," Solas said, his voice terse as he looked up from his book. It was either about knitting horrible sweaters or techniques for bullying people into studying things they have no aptitude for, "I think they are foolish children, fumbling in the dark with their own ignorance."

"You just described everyone in the world," she said "Ignorance is not a sin exclusive to the Dalish."

"Fair enough," he said, "But they could be so much better than they are. They could be so much more."

"We can all be better. Even you," she said. She had always liked confident people. Even arrogance was appealing in its own way. But this? The sour way his face twisted when he spoke of the Dalish made her angry. They weren't even her people and it made her angry.

Manahon was clever and quick to call her sister. Keeper Deshanna loved questions and sought out anyone who was willing to learn her lessons of magic and the past. Halani, the keeper's first, liked to distract people with her filthy jokes, to make them laugh when times were hard. Gilan kept the hunters' armor repaired and the children occupied with wooden figures he carved when he had a few moments to spare. He was not the friendliest person she had met, but he showed his kindness through his actions.

Many of them did. 

The elders had been wary at first but were quick to welcome her into their circle. The youths had more questions than the sky had stars. They did not shy from her nor did they threaten her. She knew not all Dalish clans were like that, but when she thought of the word ignorance, it did not resonate with her thoughts of Clan Lavellan.

They were far wiser than she was. And probably wiser than Solas.

"If you feel I have misjudged them," he said, "Tell me where I have erred."

"Would it do any good?" she asked, "It seems like your mind is already made up. If I give you an example of Dalish wisdom, you will no doubt counter it with your own observations---observations you will likely claim superior on the basis of being your own."

She didn't mean to sound as angry as she did, but it was too late to pull back. He stared at her, his eyes wide in surprise. Then, he smiled.

"Ir abelas," he said, "You are right. Please, tell me of Clan Lavellan. I can not promise I will agree with you, but I will try to listen with an open mind."

That was unexpected. She shut the book, leaving her finger between the pages as a marker. 

"Ok," she said, "We found a city elf wandering in the forest. She was lost and very far from home. We took her in, fed her, clothed her, taught her what plants were safe to eat and what were poisonous, and asked for nothing in return. She traveled with us for weeks before we parted ways." 

It was her story. Shortly after Nocturnal dropped her into the world, she found herself lost and wandering the forest. Clan Lavellan found her. They shared everything they had and everything they were with her. For the first time, she felt like she had come home. More so than with her birth family. More so than with her adoptive family. 

If she could have stayed with them forever, she would have.

Manahon had died in the blast. She didn't know if the clan knew, but they would be devastated. She couldn't think about him without feeling a sharp pain in her chest. She couldn't think of his smile without thinking if she hadn't interfered, he would be alive. He would be the Herald.

"A fine example of kindness," Solas said, "But that is all." He turned another page of his book, but she doubted he was really reading. 

"Helping those in need is more than kindness," she said, "If we want to change the world and make it better, we have to start by helping the people who need it. That's wisdom."

"Perhaps," he said, "But your clan is unique. The clans I encountered did not welcome me. They did not offer me food and drink, they offered me scorn. "

"And they were wrong," she said, "Keeper Deshanna would have had them hauling water and washing the aravels as punishment."

"And they would obey?"

"I once saw her flash freeze a rabid bear," she said, "It shattered. Everyone respected her. She kept them alive and safe." And she could be terrifying when angered. Ellana had only seen it once, but once was more than enough. 

"I will concede that there is one Dalish clan who exceeds my expectations," he said, his gaze still fixed on the page.

"Thank you," she said. It was the best she was going to get. 

She set the book on the cushion beside her and stood. Gods take her if she ever had to read another word about spirit magic. There was a reason she'd never bothered to purchase a better healing spell. Spirit magic, restoration magic---she just wasn't capable of grasping it. 

Solas looked up.

"Finished already?" he asked, "Excellent! Now we can discuss what you've learned." He gestured for her to sit back down. The look on his face said quite clearly he knew she hadn't finished reading his horrible torture device of a book. She bristled. Smug. Arrogant. Too smart for his own good. Milk drinking---

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from cursing. 

"I'm supposed to meet with Josephine," she said. Probably. There was always something her advisers needed to tell her. Today wouldn't be any different.

"No, you aren't," he said, "She cleared your schedule when I explained the importance of this lesson."

"Did you make Sera read this too?" she asked.

"Sera doesn't have the ability to cast a barrier spell, but you do," he said, "And you will."

She sat, but she didn't resume reading. There was no point. She wasn't learning to cast a barrier spell. She wasn't going to set her archery aside for his precious spirit magic. Why would she even want to?

"Believing something doesn't make it true, hahren," she said, "I'm not---"

"Don't say it," he said, cutting her off, "I mean it. I am not in the mood." He flattened his palms on the desk.

"Well, too bad, I'm not a mage," she said. 

And that's when he hit her in the face with a snowball.


	18. Dinner and Varric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric wants to know why Ellana loves Hard in Hightown.

When it was Ellana's turn to cook, she kept it simple. Fire roasted root vegetables from the forest and seared, salted rabbit meat. No one in the party complained.

She had learned to live on far less palatable fare, and in general, just far less. Rat meat and moldy bread, and if she was lucky and quick enough, a sweet roll. Though her luck was not often good. There was rarely a day she didn't contract bone break fever or blood lung. The rat bites scarred when she didn't go to a shrine or drink a cure disease potion fast enough---her legs were not beautiful or smooth.

She did not miss the Imperial City.

"A little birdie told me you read Hard in Hightown," Varric said. Sera. Or Solas. Or both. Or everyone else. She was never going to live down that prank. 

She sort of grunted as she tore into the meat. She had never mastered the art of careful, slow eating. It was devour and devour quickly. Josephine had told her, in vivid detail, what her table manners looked like. And then, she had tried to correct her. Three different forks and spoons, napkin unfolded in your lap, please and thank you, one course at a time, one bite at a time, breathe, smile, talk politely with the other guests...there were so many rules. 

And all of them designed to keep her from eating.

Only people who didn't know what it was like to starve and battle vermin for rotting table scrapes cared about elaborate eating rituals. Food was not meant to be looked at like a fine painting. It was meant to be eaten.

"So," Varric continued, "What was your favorite part?"

The mealy flesh of the roots was still too hot to eat comfortably, but she tried anyway. She was not talking about Hard in Hightown or the reasons she loved it. Not with the author of the damn thing and not with the rest of the party listening. No thank you. 

One of the few things Thedas had over Skyrim was Varric Tethras' terrible, wonderful books. And of course, cheese. And of course, Dorian. None of which were here right now. She'd left her copy of Hard in Hightown under her pillow in Skyhold. 

Varric stared at her, grinning, waiting. 

"It's a good book," she said, but with her mouth full, she doubted she made much sense. 

"I couldn't have heard you correctly, dear," Vivienne said, "It sounded like you said it's a good book, and we know that just isn't true." But she was smiling, laughing---she was being friendly, a rare thing for Vivienne when they were in the field. 

"Laugh it up, Madame de Fer, but we all know you're waiting with baited breath for the next edition of Swords and Shields," he said.

"Oh, Varric, you would choose the worst book you've written," she said, "You have such a vivid imagination."

"So I've been told," he said, "But you do know it's the worst. That tells me you've read more than one of them."

Cassandra was quiet. She set about devouring her food just as earnestly as Ellana. Once Varric stopped prodding her, it was Cassandra's turn. He was never going to let her live Swords and Shields down. 

"For research, darling," Vivienne said, still grinning, "If I'm to trust you in battle, I must know your mind first."

Varric laughed.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself so you can sleep at night," he said.

Ellana could not picture any of them in the Imperial City. Not even Vivienne, and she would have made short work out of the mage's guild. Cassandra would have dominated the Fighter's Guild or, if they were in Skyrim, the Companions. And Varric would have been immediately whisked away by the Archmage to answer questions about the dwarves. 

They would not have had to eat rats or sleep in the streets. They would have thrived just as easily there as they had here. 

Ellana finished her meal, wondering why her thoughts kept turning sour. 

She had left the Imperial City after Father died. She didn't know why she'd gone to Skyrim. At the time, it had made sense. The store and town house had gone to the eldest, Mira. The farm had gone to the only son, Bron. That left Ellana with nothing. 

Father hadn't meant to be cruel, but it had been a rejection. What did she expect? She didn't listen. She took things that weren't hers. She embarrassed them and she wasn't even their blood. Why would she think she'd be remembered in the will?

So, she left. Mira and Bron were no doubt glad to see her go. Neither one wanted the uncomfortable task of throwing their adopted sister out in the streets, but neither one wanted to let her stay. Skyrim had given her a chance to start fresh. How was she to know it would turn her whole world upside down?

Dragonborn. Nightingale. Herald of Andraste. It just kept getting worse.

Varric elbowed her a little too hard in the side.

"What?" she snapped.

"You didn't tell me your favorite part," he said.

"No, I didn't," she agreed. And she wasn't going to. Speaking Thedas Common was one thing, but reading it was still difficult. She wasn't sure she understood it all. She didn't want to know if she'd misinterpreted her favorite book. If Donnen turned out to be a complete moron and all the spies she thought were spies were actually something else entirely, she was going to cry. The book was exciting and stupid and she didn't want Varric to correct her.

She was doing him a kindness by keeping her big mouth shut. 

"Well, spit it out," he said.

No.

"Not even a hint?" he asked.

No. 

She wished she hadn't rushed to finish her food. She tried to look to Cassandra for help, but the warrior was staring into her bowl like it was the only thing in the world. And Vivienne looked thoroughly amused.

"Do stop teasing the Inquisitor, Varric," she said, "I don't think she can handle much more."

"Yes, do stop teasing the Inquisitor," Ellana said, "She did just make your dinner." Dinner that he had only sort of started to nibble. Ellana had finished hers and his bowl was still almost full. Perhaps that was why the Dwemer of her world had all vanished. They had forgotten how to eat.

"Ok, ok, I can take a hint," Varric said. 

"That remains in doubt," Vivienne said. She made eating without Josephine's dizzying array of utensils look like an art form. Even without the right fork and knife, she managed to look elegant. She didn't spill anything on herself and the world did not end. 

Josephine was not going to be impressed the next time she tried to give Ellana a lecture about salad forks.


	19. Nocturnal Always Wins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle goes better than Ellana expected.

Ellana was not one for goodbyes so she didn't make any.

She left her lyrium reinforced bow, made of dragon bone and dragon scale, under Sera's pile of special junk. She'd find it after the battle. Ella's daggers, also dragon bone, were given to Cole in person. He already knew what she had decided. His disapproved. He protested.

In the end, she didn't care what he believed. The truth was inescapable. She would go home or she would be dead. She would not compromise and remain here, suffocating under the heavy press of the Veil. She would not wait for whatever plans Solas had made to come to fruition. 

She gave Skinner and Dalish two of the best runes she had been hoarding. The rest were divided between Blackwall and Krem. She left her personal copy for Swords and Shields under Cassandra's pillow. She left Iron Bull the bulk of her souvenir dragon bones. 

It wasn't much but she knew they'd appreciate them. When they stopped being furious. 

Dorian was more difficult. She didn't have anything he could use or would want. In the end, she took a bottle of the Inquisition's best wine from the stores and slipped it into his trunk. Then, she copied all that she could remember of the books that had taught her the detect life spell, the bound weapon spells, and the muffle spell. She made two copies, one for him and one for Vivienne. 

They were far from complete, but hopefully, with enough study, they'd be able to figure it out.

She left a few pretty souvenirs from Orlais for Josephine. and the Amulet of Articulation for Leliana. Cullen would find the shield, Isatunoll, by his bedside when he returned to his room. 

And then there was the Dread Wolf. 

What did one give an almost-god? He would remember long after everyone she knew was dead. He didn't need, and probably didn't want any kind of memento. She should have left him nothing, but despite it all, she almost liked the jerk. He had kept her alive while the anchor threatened to kill her. He had fought by her side against seemingly impossible odds. She did not wish him ill. 

She just didn't want him to stop her from going home. And she didn't want him to hurt her or the people she cared about. 

She left her good copy of Hard In Hightown under a stack of his papers. He'd find it after the battle, if he wasn't in a rage. But if she succeeded, he would be. 

Then she returned to her room to get ready. They were going to war.

 

The Hall fell silent when she emerged in full Nightingale armor, daedric blade strapped to her right hip, Nightingale bow on her back, her quiver filled with the last of her daedric arrows. She doubted she had enough, but when she ran out, she had her bound bow to summon. It didn't matter who saw her use her magic now.

She was throwing everything she had at the dumb bastard. 

The hood and mask covered her face. To anyone who looked, her eyes were two pinpricks of light behind the blackness.

Iron Bull, Dorian, and Solas were already waiting. As much as she wanted to leave Solas behind, she wanted to win the battle more. It was his orb. If anything went wrong, if anything happened to her, he was their next best chance.

"That's an interesting look," Dorian said. It wasn't the first time they'd seen her in this armor, but it was the first time with the hood. She remembered what it was like seeing Brynjolf and Karliah in it for the first time.

She doubted it would intimidate Corypheus, but she didn't much care. This was what she was wearing when she came into the world, and it was what she'd leave it in. She'd earned it with her blood and her soul. 

"Shall we ride?" she asked. She couldn't smile.

 

Corypheus had anticipated many things in his time, but there was one element he couldn't have anticipated. Durnehviir, the undead dragon. She had met him first in the Soul Cairn, another realm like the Fade. He gave her his allegiance in return for a temporary freedom. Summon him in the world outside the Cairn and he would fight for her. 

And unlike Corypheus' poor wild, dead dragon, Durnehviir retained his wit. Together he and Morrigan drove the beast from the sky, and then with time still remaining, Durnehviir returned to blast the undead magister with his magic. His frost breath made the lyrium crystals in Corypheus' flesh brittle. They shattered when Ellana slammed the but of her sword against them. 

For once everything went right.

"You wanted into the Fade," Ellana said, "I hope it's everything you wished."

Ellana held the orb in her right hand as she grabbed Corypheus with her left. The power snaked up her right arm and down her left, connecting to the anchor. She felt supercharged, like she had too much power. 

The orb pulsed, green light sinking into Corypheus' body. And then...and then.

His body collapsed and he was gone, sucked into himself. The fortress cracked. The stones fell, pelting the ground around her. She clutched the orb to her chest, not willing to let it go, not willing to risk losing her one chance to go home. 

She rolled out of the way. 

Nocturnal had to sense her. She had to know Ellana had succeeded. 

"The orb," Solas shouted, "Give me the orb!" There wasn't much time left. Where was Nocturnal? Where was her portal home? 

She stepped back when Solas reached for the orb.

"What's gotten into you two?" Dorian asked, catching Solas by the arm. He pulled him back, "The damn place is going to come down on us. We can't stay here. You can fight over the blasted thing when we're safe." Solas wrenched his arm out of Dorian's grasp. 

"Enough," he said, "You don't understand."

The ground trembled. 

'Ellana, please," Solas said.

And then she realized---the only thing stopping Nocturnal had to be the Veil. She had been able to send her through, but she couldn't pull her back across. Like throwing a stone into a pool of water. You couldn't will it to come back. Once it was dropped in, it was gone. Someone had to fish it out of the water by hand.

The anchor pulsed. The breath caught in her throat. If Nocturnal couldn't reach her here, she might be able to open a portal in the fade.

Ellana opened a rift. 

"What are you doing?" Solas asked, "Inquisitor---" His hands sparked, and she was afraid. He had meant what he said. He was going to kill her if she didn't give him the orb. But she couldn't give it to him. She couldn't stay here. She couldn't. She heard Dorian call her name. She saw Iron Bull's face, the shock warring with fear. They would be angry later, when they realized what she'd done. That part she would regret. They were her friends and she loved them. She tried to smile At Dorian and Bull, but her face felt too tight.

"Don't you dare," Solas said. She felt the air ripple around him. 

"I don't have a choice," she said, "I'm sorry, Dread Wolf." She wasn't sorry. She was going home. She was getting out of this hell world. Fuck you, Thedas, and the horse you rode in on.

She jumped through the rift. 

It sealed behind her as she fell.

 

The portal opened almost as soon as her skin touched the Fade, but its light wasn't the vivid green. It was a shadowy black and blue. the edges curled like smoke instead of crackling like lightning. She fell through.

When she hit the ground, she tucked her legs and rolled, cradling the orb against her chest. The portal snapped shut. The orb went dead, the light of it snuffed out. 

For a long moment, she lay where she'd landed, her lungs aching for breath. She didn't feel the press of the veil. She didn't have that nagging headache. She felt whole. The air felt right. When she looked up, she recognized where she was, the Twilight Sepulcher.

"Well done, my Nightingale," Nocturnal said. 

The only light was the glow emanating from the daedric prince and the glow of the Ebonmere. The anchor had dulled. No longer the vivid yellow-green, it was a muted scar across her palm. The pain was gone. Completely.

She gestured for Ellana to place the orb in the Ebonmere.

What else could she do? 

She obeyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fallout needs to stop sucking up all my free time. 
> 
> Ellana hasn't seen the last of Thedas.


	20. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's good to be home.

The stares were unnerving. As she walked through Whiterun, she felt each gaze follow her. When she opened the door to her home, Lydia had a blade to her throat before she could speak.

And then, when she realized who Ellana was, she dropped it, pulled her in for a very rough hug.

"Where in god's name have you been?" she demanded, "We thought you were dead."

She might as well have been. Her body felt like it had been broken and stitched back together wrong. Her muscles ached. Her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. And she wanted to sleep for a very, very long time.

"I was traveling," she said, when it became clear Lydia wasn't going to let her go without some kind of explanation.

"Traveling," Lydia said, her voice hitched, "Traveling? That's the best you can come up with? Of course you were bloody well traveling. Where were you? Nevermind. You should speak with the Jarl. There's been talk of having you declared officially dead."

"I haven't been gone that long," she protested.

"Long enough," Lydia said, "With the life you lead, it isn't that much of a stretch to think your absence means someone finally ran a sword through your vitals."

That was fair. 

"He probably already knows," she said.

"Go see the Jarl," Lydia repeated, "Before he summons you. You were missed."

"It can wait," she said, "I'm tired."

"It can't wait," Lydia said, "If Whiterun's missing Thane doesn't immediately report to the Jarl to explain her absence, Irileth will assume the worst. You don't want that."

No. She didn't. She sighed. 

"Fine. You're right," she said. She hung the Nightingale bow on it's rack but kept her blade strapped to her hip. She left the rest of her gear by the bookshelf, and when she turned, Lydia caught her up in another hug.

"We were worried," she whispered. 

Ellana swayed. Exhaustion was pulling at her. 

"I'm sorry," she said, "I'll tell you all about it when I have a moment." 

Gods, but what to tell? Nocturnal sent her to another world to steal a powerful artifact, but it went pear shaped and for a while people thought she was the Herald of a god. There were dragons and undead creatures and so many idiots. They made her dance.

They. Made. Her. Dance.

She shuddered as she pulled away.

"You should send word to Riften and Markarth," Lydia said, "Iona has posted a reward for news of your whereabouts. Vorstag and Marcurio even chipped in some coin---no, never mind, you don't worry. Go. I'll send word."

Ellana choked down a laugh.

"Marcurio," she said, "Parted with his hard earned coin to find me." Impossible. Had the world gone mad since she'd been gone?

"It was Iona's idea," Lydia said, "Why is this so surprising? After all the good you've done, you shouldn't be surprised you have people who care about you." Yes, that probably made sense. She would feel it better later, but right now, tired took priority. She didn't know what she was going to say to Jarl Balgruuf or Irileth or the Companions, if any of them saw her between now and Dragonsreach.

 

Irileth stared at her critically---she kept her hand at her sword. Just in case. She didn't yet let her approach the Jarl.

"You're alive," she said, as if she'd expected it.

"So they tell me," Ellana said. Some days, she wondered.

Jarl Balgruuf watched from his throne. He didn't mask his impatience. He cleared his throat and gestured for Irileth to step aside. 

"Irileth, that's enough," he said, "Where have you been, Dragonborn? And more importantly, what new tales do you have for us? It's been a bit dull as of late." And then he smiled. 

She let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. So he didn't think she was plotting something. That was good. 

"I have a story or two I could tell," she said. If she could find a way to tell them without admitting she'd traveled to another world at the behest of Nocturnal. She doubted Balgruuf would think too fondly of her if he knew that. 

"Good," he said, "Tomorrow then. You look like you need a night's rest." She felt like she needed a night's rest. Or ten. Maybe more. Gods, if she never had to crawl out of her bed again it would still be too soon.

"There were rumors you'd been captured by the Thalmor," he continued, "Is there any truth to those rumors?"

"None," she said.

Some of the tension eased out of him, as if he suspected she'd been meddling in things that could cause another war. She wasn't that stupid. She didn't desire to face Thalmor soldiers. 

"Good," he said, "Return tomorrow." And she was dismissed. It was not as painful as she'd expected. She didn't end up in chains awaiting a pretend trial. No one threatened to have her executed.

But then, she saw Aela and Vilkas. 

And everything went to shit.

 

She dodged the first punch, but somehow, she still ended up flat on her back, staring skyward. Vilkas held Aela back, but it seemed more a half hearted attempt than anything fueled by actual concern for her well being. 

Her jaw throbbed and two of her teeth felt loose. 

"It seems the Silver Hand didn't kill you after all," Vilkas said, "That's too bad."

She pushed herself up on her elbows, but didn't stand. 

"Yes, I did have a lovely trip," she said, "It's good to see you too." Dick. 

"While you were off ignoring your duties," Vilkas said, "The Silver Hand increased their numbers. They've gained a foothold in Skyrim."

Now, she did stand up. Her duties? She'd done nothing but see to her duties and everyone else's. Every asshole with an errand to run had found her and dumped their problems in her lap and she was expected to take it. 

"You have how many members?" she asked, "I find it hard to believe my absence was even noticed."

"We notice when one of our own goes missing," Aela said, "We thought the worst, but here you are, alive and well."

"Alive, anyway," Ellana said, "I don't know how well I am." She was angry. Again. Nocturnal demanded. The Companions demanded. The Inquisition demanded. Everyone frigging demanded and when she declined to give in to their demands she got a fist to the face. She was damn sick of it.

"What happened?" Aela asked, "No, it doesn't matter. Speak with Kodlak. He had a task for you before you disappeared. I think he will still want to speak with you."

"When I've recovered from my journey, perhaps I will," she said. Kodlak had been kind and spoke of the curse with more wisdom than the others. He had known she wouldn't take to it well. He had known it would become one of her greatest regrets. If she could take it all back, she would.

A strange expression flickered across Aela's face. Not quite anger. Not quite worry, but somewhere in between. She looked like she couldn't decide whether she wanted to hit Ellana or ask if she was ok. Vilkas just looked as tired as Ellana felt. 

"It is important," he said. It always was. 

Aela caught her by the arm when she turned to leave.

"Perhaps I should have asked first," she said, "Are you well?"

"I'm alive and whole," Ellana said, pulling away, "So yes. I'm well." It took everything in her not to look at the scar on her palm. The anchor had gone dormant, but she didn't believe for a second it was safe. The power was still there, under her skin. It was just much quieter than usual. 

"Good. Next time you decide to fuck off to parts unknown, leave someone a note," she said, "We raided the Silver Hand fortress looking for you. We almost lost Farkas." Damn it. She felt an unwanted surge of guilt. They shouldn't have gone looking for her at all. She hadn't thought they would.

Would the Inquisition try to find her? Could they? That was a terrible thought. Dorian and the Iron Bull getting themselves into trouble because they went looking for her. Or Sera. Or Varric and Cole. Gods, even Vivienne. 

Or worse, the Dread Wolf. If anyone could find away across the worlds, it would be him. She did not want to meet him here.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't realize. How is he?"

"He's fine," Vilkas said, "No thanks to you." The breath rushed out of her. She needed about a week's worth of sleep before she could deal with his surly attitude. She ignored Vilkas' attempts to goad her into to coming back and speaking to Kodlak. Later, perhaps, but not now. She left them both by the Gildergreen. She hadn't imagined it, two of her back teeth were most definitely loose. Damn it all. 

She couldn't express just how much she was looking forward to a normal night's rest. No Fade. No demons. Just mindless, weird dreaming in her head. It made all of her problems seem unimportant. It had been too long.

She didn't even know if she could still dream. What if she tried and still woke up in the blasted Fade? Gods, no. Just no.


	21. What Are Friends For?

Kodlak wanted the cure. That was what all the mystery was about---he couldn't tell the others. But he knew Ellana wanted it as much as he did. The beastblood did not suit them.

"The others will not understand," he said. His smile when she agreed took ten years off him. 

By that time, Iona, Marcurio, and Vorstag had made the trek to Whiterun. She would not be hunting Glenmoril Witches alone. She didn't know if that was a blessing or not. She wanted time alone to clear her head, but she didn't want time alone to clear her head. Her mind took her down dangerous paths. She missed drinking wine with Dorian and listening to Varric's stories. She hadn't realized just how much she relied on him (any of them really) to keep her sane.

Marcurio hugged her when he saw her. He actually did. He never hugged anyone. And if he did, she had always suspected he would have expected payment for it. 

"You really are stupid," he said. Vorstag nodded, and Iona punched her in the shoulder when it was her turn. She didn't hold back.

"I had to sell the set of dragonbone armor," she said.

"Why?" Ellana asked. It was her best set, but not one she wore. She had never mastered the art of sneaking in heavy armor. She had tried, gods help her, but it had been a failure each time. 

Iona looked at her like she was chaurus dung.

"To pay every idiot who thought he saw your corpse rotting in a ditch," she said, "Do you have any idea how worried we were? Where were you? You were just gone." They sat on her chairs around the cooking fire. Marcurio took a seat by the cupboard. Ellana was left standing. 

"I was," she admitted, and then she pressed on, "It was Nocturnal's doing."

Vorstag's face twisted in disgust. 

"I told you not to align yourself with her," he said, "How many times? Don't join the thieves guild. Don't do their dirty work. Don't--"

"I know," she said. He had voiced his displeasure every chance he got. He didn't approve of the thieves guild and he didn't approve of Ellana robbing people for their benefit. Earn your keep like everyone else, he had insisted, and he was right. But she had already committed. 

And to be completely honest, there were far worse professions she could have chosen. 

"You know now," he said, "You aren't forgiven yet. You should have sent word."

"You couldn't go where she sent me," she said. They would have died in the blast. Or Corypheus would have killed them. Or Cassandra---she doubted they would have surrendered to her Inquisition forces. Though she was endlessly curious about how Vivienne would have interacted with Marcurio. 

"You'll never know now," Lydia said.

"We might have been finished sooner," Iona said, "We could have been home before anyone knew we were gone. You were gone a year." 

"I know."

"Just don't do it again," Marcurio said. He liberated one of the bottles of Argonian Bloodwine from the cupboard.

"You did not miss me," she said.

"We most certainly did," Lydia said. Marcurio poured himself a generous glass and then passed Lydia the bottle. Lydia took a drink and passed the bottle to Iona. She passed the bottle to Vorstag and then it found its way back to Lydia. They deftly avoided passing it to Ellana. She didn't blame them. They were angry. 

If the roles had been reversed and they'd just disappeared without so much as a note, she would have been less than thrilled.. 

"Being dragged through Falmer infested ruins was better than not knowing if someone had killed you and desecrated your bones," Marcurio said. When he put it like that, she felt like an ass. 

"Yes," Lydia agreed,"Now, what was this mysterious mission?"

"She wanted me to steal from a god," she said.

"Of course she did," Vorstag said.

Iona smacked her on the back of the head.

"Ow, stop," Ellana said. She ducked when Iona tried to repeat the blow.

"You don't steal from the gods," Iona said, "Any child is smart enough to know that."

"It wasn't one of our gods," she said. Or even really a god, if Solas was to be believed. He was just stupidly powerful at one point in his life. Solas and Corypheus both. 

"And that makes it better?" Iona asked, "By the eight---"

"I know, I know," she said, "Trust me, I know how stupid it was. I had to live it."

"This is why you should have told us," Marcurio said, "You make terrible decisions. First, Thieves Guild, then the werewolf thing---"

"Hey, I'm working on fixing the werewolf thing," she interrupted. 

"Don't forget about the time she tried to sneak into the Thalmor Embassy," Vorstag said, cutting in, "That was a disaster."

"That's right, the embassy incident," Marcurio said, "And the wooly mammoths. Remember the mammoths?" Ellana groaned. Not the mammoth story again. It was not her fault. She hadn't seen one before and they were fluffy. 

Lydia snorted.

"How could anyone forget?" she asked, "How are you even still alive?"

"I have no idea," Ellana said. And she really, really didn't. She snagged the bottle from Iona as it made its second rounds. She corked it and put it back in the cupboard. They couldn't be drunk if they were going hunting for Glenmoril witches. 

Marcurio kept his glass far out of her reach. 

 

She missed fighting the mages in Thedas. Ellana hated to add it to her slowly growing list of things she missed, but it was there. Mages were powerful in Thedas, but they weren't Glenmoril witches. They weren't devastating.

Ellana cursed under her breath and cast the barrier spell over the group. It wasn't like the faint shimmer she was used to. It flashed bright and settled heavily around them---like a woolen blanket. It was so much stronger than she remembered.

"Whatever that is, you're teaching me," Marcurio said, "It's the least you can do." He hurled another fireball at the witch. Iona hacked off her head when she pitched forward, knocked off balance by the blast. 

"Didn't you call me stupid earlier?" she asked, "Why would you want to learn from an idiot?"

Another witch rounded the corner. She dodged Vorstag's attack and blasted Lydia, making the barrier blink out. So much for the barrier being stronger, Ellana thought as she struggled to cast it. She really was shit with this magic thing. 

She didn't have enough mana. 

She put an arrow in the witch's chest instead. Lydia knocked her off her feet and drove her blade into her middle. 

"Even idiots possess valuable knowledge from time to time," Marcurio continued, "I've never seen a Ward like that before. Who taught you---"

"No one you want to meet," she snapped. She didn't mean for it to come out as forceful as it did, but she was bad at all of this. And tired from casting the stupid barrier spell she didn't want to know in the first place. And grumpy. She was grumpy. 

"So it's a former lover," Marcurio said, grinning, "I think I would like to meet them."

"Not a former lover---"

"A current lover?" Iona asked. She arched an eyebrow. 

"No! Gods take you all, when did you get so nosy?" Ellana asked. The fifth witch came rushing down the last tunnel, claw like fingers curled, ready to rend flesh. 

"Fus Ro Dah!" Ellana Shouted.

The witch staggered. Marcurio hit her with fire and Vorstag lopped off her head. 

"We got so nosy when you started keeping strange secrets," Lydia said.

"The almost-god I was supposed to steal the orb from taught me the stupid spell," she said. She counted the heads. Definitely five, definitely the last of the Glenmoril witches. Kodlak could have his cure and she could have hers. No more beastblood. No more blasted Hircine. She stuffed the heads in the bag and cinched it shut tight.

Vorstag snorted.

"What kind of person punishes a thief by teaching them a powerful spell?" he asked.

"The kind that finds the thief pleasing to the eye," Iona said, "You say you weren't lovers, but I bet you could have been."

"He didn't know I was a thief at the time," she said. Well, not completely. Sort of. Gah, she didn't know. Why were they still talking about this? She slung the bag of heads over her shoulder. 

Vorstag huffed and took the bag of heads from her. He slung it over his own shoulder. She didn't argue with him this time. It was a study in futility. Vorstag liked carrying things.

"Sure, he didn't," Marcurio said, "I think you're on to something, Iona."

"No. You didn't see his sweater," Ellana said. No one who wore that had any interest in romantic entanglements. 

She ignored the knowing looks her idiot friends gave each other. They didn't know shit. 

 

Aela and Torvar greeted her at the entrance to Jorrvaskr. The Silver Hand had attacked. Kodlak was dead.


	22. There's Always Another Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia wants to know about the Anchor and Vilkas wants to kill things.

"That scar," Lydia said, "What is it?' She caught sight of it when Ellana peeled off her gloves. She was not looking forward to meeting Vilkas. Kodlak had been a good man. His death was a great loss.

"It's the Anchor," Ellana said, "It's why they spared me." She draped the gloves over the back of the chair. It was late and the streets of Whiterun were quiet. The chaos of the Silver Hand's attack had not disturbed the villagers. 

"It doesn't look like much," Lydia said.

Marcurio, Vorstag, and Iona had returned to their rooms at the inn. Vorstag had decided to remain in Whiterunand wait for her return, for reasons that had yet to make sense, while the others would ride to Riften. Iona didn't like to leave Honeyside unattended for long. Not all the thieves belonged to the guild. Some would see it as easy pickings. 

She was glad the Anchor was quiet. 

"It's different here," Ellana said. Thank the gods. She flexed her fingers. They didn't hurt and they weren't numb. Magic didn't eat through her gloves. Gods, she could actually wear real gloves again for however long she wanted. 

"Different how?" Lydia asked.

"Here, it doesn't hurt me," she said, "It's usually a bright light. And green." It used to wake her up at night. Bad dreams made her lose control. She scorched the sheets. Josephine had someone on permanent retainer just to deal with the linens. 

"Sounds terrible," Lydia said. Weirdly, Josephine never complained about buying replacements. Ellana would have. It seemed like a waste to throw them out when they were only slightly damaged. She'd slept on cobblestones before and dirty, moldy straw. 

"You have no idea."

"Have you heard anything more from Nocturnal?" Lydia asked.

Ellana's stomach seemed to drop. 

"Not yet," she said. She wasn't thinking about that right now. When she let her thoughts drift that way, she felt sick. Solas' voice kept creeping back. What were Nocturnal's plans for the orb? What was she going to do with it?

How did she even know about it? Or Thedas? Or the Dread Wolf? Or---no. She wasn't thinking about this. She wasn't going back to Riften or checking in with Karliah and Brynjolf until someone summoned her.

Ellana sat in her chair. The fire pit was cold, there had been no fires lit for the last few days, but she felt better sitting beside it anyway. Vilkas wanted to get an early start. She had strong doubts about the good the early hour would do his disposition. It was going to be terrible. 

On multiple levels. 

She wished she hadn't left Varric's novels behind. Another chapter of Hard in Hightown would have gone a long way to soothing her nerves. 

"I don't think you should wait for Nocturnal to summon you," Lydia said, "I think there's going to be trouble. You should find out what that trouble will be and then let us help you."

"I know," she said. And she hated it. Lydia was rarely wrong. 

"And one more thing," Lydia said, "But you won't like it."

"When do I like something?" she asked. She tried to smile, but something in Lydia's face stopped her. 

"I think you need to consult the mage college in Winterhold," Lydia said.

No. 

"Yes," Ellana said, "You're right." 

Maybe since it was Lydia's idea, it wouldn't backfire. Maybe the archmage would have all the answers and not ask her to do a hundred stupid things he should have tasked the entry level students to complete. Maybe he wouldn't trick her into joining and then scold her for not knowing more than a handful of barely useful spells. 

Yeah, right, and maybe Ellana would be crowned king of Skyrim and Sheogorath would give her a pretty, talking griffin at her coronation. Solas would finally buy a sweater that wasn't beige and wasn't older than the Tevinter empire. There would also be world peace for everyone and Andraste would reveal herself to be an ancient dwarven cheese wheel. 

The nugs would rejoice. 

"Just, think about it," Lydia said, "When you've finished with Companion business." But that was the thing. Was she ever going to be finished with Companion business?

 

Driftshade Refuge was not the easy ride Vilkas pretended it was. The ride took them on uneven, cold paths through the snow. Their horses were unimpressed, and very early on decided they would be better suited back at the nice toasty stables. 

The giants may or may not have had something to do with it. When Vilkas finally made the killing blow, the horses were long gone (with most of the supplies). There was nothing they could do but walk the rest of the way.

It was no wonder by the time they reached their destination, Vilkas had gone silent. He wasn't just angry. He was rage incarnate. 

The Silver Hand did not survive the encounter. 

Ellana tucked the shards of Wuuthrad into the only, remaining supply bag. Vilkas wiped the blood off his face.

"Thank you," he said.

"What?"

"I said thank you," he said, "For helping with this." 

"You're welcome," she said. He hadn't given her much of a choice, but she didn't feel like arguing. 

"No, I mean it," he said, "You've done more for the Companions than I expected." Well, since he expected her to trip over her own feet and fatally stab herself with her dagger, that wasn't saying much, but she'd take it. 

She didn't recognize him without his scowl. 

"What happens now?" she asked. She still had a bag full of Glenmoril witches' heads that needed to go away. She didn't know if the cure was time sensitive, but the heads were. They had probably started to stink up the house. She was not looking forward to Lydia's greeting.

When Vilkas sighed, he looked suddenly very tired. And very sad. 

"We'll see to Kodlak's remains," he said, "And then we'll speak more."


	23. Enough With the Spiders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kodlak's funeral and the cure.

Ellana hadn't attended many funerals. Mother's was the first she remembered, and then Father's. She might have attended her birth parents, but she didn't remember that far back. She didn't even remember how they died.

Kodlak's was awe inspiring. The Companions were quiet. There was no bickering. There was no wailing tears and screaming. His body burned, and solemn words were spoken. Then, everyone dispersed.

She had brought Vorstag with her. Just in case the surviving Companions needed her to run another errand (which, of course, they did). Vilkas took offense when he realized she expected to bring him along. 

"This is Companions' business," Vilkas said, "Your friend will have to stay behind."

Vorstag looked like he wanted to argue, but he surprised Ellana when he backed down. His mouth was grim, his eyes narrowed. The Companions' reputation made it foolish to argue. 

Still, it was a rare occasion anyone would accuse Ellana of being wise.

"Why?" she asked, "The more the merrier, right?" Thedas had spoiled her. She'd gotten used to traveling with three other people. There was something comforting about working with a team that size. She wished Dorian was here. His necromancy always came in handy. 

"No," Vilkas said. As if it had already been decided. 

"Well, why not?"

"I don't have to explain myself. Accept it or don't, Dragonborn," he said.

Pfft. That line never worked on Cassandra. 

"Maybe I should stay home then," she said, "If the company I keep is so unappealing." She was getting better at lying. She wouldn't have stayed home for all the world. The cure was close. If they could pluck Kodlak's soul away from Hircine, they could free hers as well. 

"Ysgramor's Tomb is not place for outsiders," he said, "It is sacred to the Companions."

There was a moment his face twisted. She saw his grief and she felt like an ass for arguing.

"I will wait here," Vorstag said.

She didn't like it. She wanted one of her people along, but if Vorstag was unwilling, she couldn't press him. 

"Fine," she said, "I'll come alone." She regretted it already. 

 

Thick webs covered the walls. Giant eggs sacks encased in spider silk were clustered in every crack and crevice and corner. Why was it always spiders? Why? This was not happening. 

Aela didn't seem to care, but Farkas went deathly pale.

"I can't," he said, "Ever since Dustman's Cairn, I haven't been able to---I've been---"

He looked at her, helplessly.

"We can't both of us be afraid of spiders," she said, "Stop looking at me like that." But they were. He was.

"You have to go on without me," he said, "I'm sorry, but I can't." His voice rose. She recognized the sound of panic. First Vilkas had refused to accompany them past the entrance, and now Farkas was abandoning the quest? 

"No," she said. 

Damn it. Why had she let them talk her into leaving Vorstag behind? These idiots kept skipping off to do god only knows what. Vorstag would have had her back. She had known she was making a mistake. Stupid Vilkas. Stupid Farkas. 

"Dragonborn, please," Farkas said. His eyes had gone wide, his body tense. Too tense. He'd be useless in the fight. 

"It's alright, Shield-Sister, we can handle a few spiders," Aela said. She grinned. How could anyone smile when cow sized spiders were about to drop on them? She was insane. 

"NO," Ellana repeated. A few spiders? Spiders that made wolves look small. WOLVES. 

But Farkas was already backing away and Aela was drawing the first arrow. Ellana heard the skitter of spidery claws across the stone. They were coming.

"I hate you all," she said, "You fucking owe me, Farkas." Her hands shook. At least she wasn't in the Fade. At least the spiders weren't Fade spiders. They were ordinary, giant spiders with giant fangs and giant appetites for people. No, that didn't help. She didn't feel better. 

She couldn't seem to breathe properly. She didn't know where Farkas was, but he was just suddenly gone. She wished she could do the same. 

She counted the shadows as they dropped. What little light illuminated the chamber was no help whatsoever. She clipped the first spider, in one of its legs. A useless shot that barely slowed it down. She drew another arrow and buried it between the damn thing's eyeballs. The shriek it made as it died made Ellana want to clamp her hands over her ears.

She missed the Veil for just a moment. She could have opened a rift and sent the skittering bastards through to the Fade, let them fight the Fade Spiders and demons. It would have done wonders for her nerves to see them vanish. But she still didn't know if she could use the anchor here. She was more than a little afraid to try. 

Aela killed the bulk of the spiders. She counted each one out loud. And every so often, she laughed. 

"What in Oblivion are you laughing about?" Ellana asked. 

"The Great and Powerful Dragonborn is afraid of common spiders," she said.

"There's nothing common about frostbite spiders," Ellana said. And I'm not great or powerful, she thought. 

"No?" Aela asked, still grinning that stupid grin, "My mistake then, sister."

The spider webs ended just before they reached the next room. Instead of spiders, they were attacked by the ghosts of dead Companions. Ellana's relief was instantaneous. She could handle ghosts.

 

She burned two of the Glenmoril witch heads in the fire. One for Kodlak and one for herself, and then she fought spirit wolves. When it was all over Kodlak's ghost was gone and Ellana didn't feel any different. 

"You're sure this worked?" she asked.

"I suppose you'll find out with the next full moon," Aela said. Disapproval rolled off her in waves. She didn't understand why anyone would want to be free of Hircine's "blessing". She liked losing control.

Ellana did not.


	24. Magical Earplugs Would Be Nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set some time before the werewolf revelation, well before Orlais and the Winter Palace.  
> Ellana is not a fan of giants. Also, Iron Bull loses his "lead the party through the Emerald Graves" privileges.

There were no woolly mammoths in Thedas. The giants only had one eye and gross tusks, but they hit just as hard as the giants in Skyrim. Also, they wore a hell of a lot less than they should. Ellana had seen terrible, terrible things. Things that couldn't be unseen.

"Why does it have to be giants?" Ellana asked, "They're never fun." Naked giants. Creepy naked giants. Creepy, angry, naked giants. She had no desire to get smacked all the way across the Emerald Graves. 

"First dragons and now giants," Solas said, "It is remarkable the dangers your clan faced and survived. Will wonders never cease?" He almost smiled. His lips twitched. She ignored him. It was a good thing the mission was going to be simple. No dragons, no giants (if they could be avoided) just track down the Dalish and fight red templars. Minimal aggravation. If luck was on their side. 

One of the brontos ambled into their path. It plopped down, claiming that spot for itself until they were forced to walk around it. Then, it got up and ambled on its way. Brontos were shitty. 

"You fought giants too?" Iron Bull asked.

"I don't know if it's fair to call it a fight when it consisted entirely of us running away," she said. Marcurio had been of the opinion it was less of a fight and more a complete disaster. She agreed. 

Iron Bull laughed.

"That sounds about right," he said, "You need a good team and a lure. And better armor. That light shit won't do much against a fist that's at least half your size." That was true. The only good it had done was let her limp away a just fast enough for the giant to lose sight of her. She'd survived more because of luck than anything. Well, luck and Marcurio's destruction magic. He had never let her live it down. 

"We should probably try to go around it," she said. The brontos weren't hostile, but they would be after the giants attacked. It didn't matter how far away they were, they zeroed in on fighting like it was delicious, delicious candy. 

"Yes, that would be wise," Solas said, "Tell me, where did Clan Lavellan encounter giants?"

"Places," she said, "You know giants. They're always where you least expect them."

"Oh yes, the Emerald Graves, the Forbidden Oasis, the herb garden, the pantry," he said, "Giants, Thedas' true menace. They're worse than rats." 

"Something on your mind, Solas?" she asked. Not really wanting an answer. What she really wanted to know was how he managed to take the perfectly nice looking armor she crafted and turn it into hobo garb. Where was he getting the raggedy fur and how was he changing the fit without visiting the blacksmith? When Dorian had tried it on, it looked a lot more elegant.

"There are many, many things on my mind, da'len," he said, "Would you care to hear them all?" And then he did smile, and it was horrifying. 

"If I say no, you're just going to tell me anyway," she said, "Aren't you?"

"You know me so well," Solas said.

"Here we go again," Iron Bull said. He pushed his way to the front, leading them through a narrow pass between rock and trees. The giant, thankfully, took no note. He was too busy smashing a red templar into a meaty red paste. 

"Tell me, how did a whole clan run from a giant? Did you have to leave the aravels behind? I imagine it must have been a terrible loss."

"I didn't say the whole clan had to run," she said, "Just a few of us." Two of them, and not anyone from Clan Lavellan. Hate you, she thought, stop being a smarty. She was not telling them about the woolly mammoths. 

"It's a wonder you survived," he said. There was that tone again. How did someone even get so smug? It shouldn't have been possible. 

"Now, now, children," Dorian said, "Uncle Dorian didn't bring any of his magical ear plugs or his special "I can't hear you" potion. If you're going to bicker, he'll have to turn this mission around and take you both back to camp."

"Uncle Dorian?" Ellana asked as Solas chimed in with, "Children?"

"Yes, Uncle Dorian," he repeated, "And yes, children. At least wait until Blackwall is here. You know how he loves your little talks." He most certainly did not. He'd made a few half joking threats about feeding the two of them to the Darkspawn if he had to listen to another one of their arguments. 

"Poor Dorian," Solas agreed, "I fear you've tired yourself out. You've mistaken idle conversation for an argument." Ha! No. 

"Hey, you know what's really funny," Iron Bull said, "Leliana knows a golem who hates chickens. How weird is that?"

"Fascinating," Dorian said, "Please continue, Bull. I'm dying to know more about this mysterious creature. Whatever could the chickens have done to earn it's ire?" The way they pitched their voices warned Ellana there would be pain if they weren't allowed to derail the conversation. She really didn't mind.

"Ok, point taken," she said, "Blackwall will probably be less than amused if he knows you said that."

"Yes," Solas said. She almost felt better when some of the smug left his face. 

"I'm sure I'm appropriately distraught," Dorian said, "Whatever shall I do? Oh, the horror. You mustn't tell Blackwall. Oh, you mustn’t. Blah. Blah. Blah. Oh shit, is that what I think it is?" His tone went from flippant to alarmed. Iron Bull stopped short.

"Shit," he said, "It is. Whoops. My bad."

Ellana heard the wingbeats before she saw it. Damn it, Iron Bull. The Greater Mistral roared, its blue and yellow wings stretching skyward. 

"I thought we were going to avoid it for the time being," Solas said. They were. She distinctly remembered it coming up in the briefing. Avoid the dragon. Avoid the giants (if at all possible). Find the Dalish. Dispatch any red templars that got in their way. Come back and kill the dragon. Go home and sleep for a week. 

There was no chance Iron Bull just happened to forget. She didn't really blame him. Ignoring the threat of a dragon wasn't the smartest way to go about things. If they weren't pressed for time she would have put her foot down. 

"I guess I got turned around," Iron Bull said, his grin suddenly too wide "Might as well take care of it now. It's already seen us." Dorian smacked him on the back of the head.

"You did that on purpose," Dorian said.

Iron Bull didn't have a chance to respond. The dragon attacked, ice breath blasting them, full force. The fight was on.


	25. What's the Difference between a Party and Torture?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana is not having the best time at the Satinalia celebration.

Everything was masks and chaos and Ellana was hard pressed to stop herself from lifting coin from the unsuspecting revelers. Stealing was bad, especially when you were the Inquisitor and everyone was watching. Still, her fingers almost itched, the urge was so strong. And she was still hungry. Gods, she was hungry.

The inner circle had scattered throughout the celebration. Blackwall, Varric, Iron Bull and the Chargers, Dorian, and Sera were playing drinking games in the tavern. Leliana, Josephine, Vivienne, Cullen (unwillingly) and Cassandra (also unwillingly) were entertaining the nobility. Cassandra had looked more than ready to throttle everyone. Solas was lurking in the shadows looking thoroughly entertained. 

And Cole had vanished. She couldn't blame him. A week long celebration was a bit much. Especially when the celebration consisted of pranks and sweaty strangers pawing at everyone. 

Ellana couldn't remember the last time she was at a celebration like this. She hadn't had time to familiarize herself with Skyrim's holidays---after crossing the border, she was always busy doing something for someone. 

Before Father and Mother took her in, holidays in the Imperial City were spent working (stealing). And after they took her in, there was religion and prayers and more work (legitimate work manning the store under Mira's supervision). Mira did not tolerate "tomfoolery". She was several years older than Ellana, but she acted like an old woman. Duty first. Forget fun. Ellana had doubts she actually knew what fun was. 

So holidays were strange things.

As the Inquisitor, she didn't know what to do with herself. Well, other than continue to hide from Josephine and the Pain Squad. She was NOT entertaining any more stuffy snobs who looked down their pointed aristocratic noses at her just for having pointed ears. These same assholes spent much of their free time attempting to seduce any elven "commoner" unfortunate enough to come into their sights

Hypocrites. The whole lot of them.

Her stomach grumbled at her, but she didn't dare approach the stupid food table again. She'd had enough embarrassment to least the rest of the week long celebration. Maybe longer. 

It had been Leliana instead of Josephine who tried to get her to wear the ridiculous mask. She didn't object to covering her face. She objected to covering her face with something that looked more like someone's lacy underthings. It was delicate and white and trimmed with pink and gold. It looked like it was supposed to be some kind of animal, possibly. A few idiots had called her kitten, thinking it would get them somewhere.

Kitten. Ha!

No. 

Though she supposed it was better than rabbit. That had turned out to be a racial slur. The one time Josephine heard someone utter the word in reference to an elf, she had him unceremoniously ejected from the Hall. She was fire and fury and she would "not have that kind of talk from Inquisition soldiers." And once Josephine had spoken, that was that. No one dared to cross her.

One look from Cassandra or Leliana or even Cullen had any idiots sufficiently cowed.

"Now what is a pretty young thing like you doing unattended?"

The unfamiliar voice was at her ear and a hand curved over her backside, fingers groping, questing, squeezing. She smelled breath that was choked with the too-sweet wine. A second hand tried and failed to pull her back against him. 

"Go away," she said. Her first instinct was to turn and punch the idiot in the stomach until he puked. That was an appropriate response to another drunken groping (the count was at seven), wasn't it? But people were watching and Josephine had put so much work into the celebration. She didn't want drunken idiots puking on the pretty new rug. 

The hand on her backside followed when she stepped away. She batted it away. The man was one of the nobles she'd been forced to entertain. His mask was silver and shades of blue and shaped like some kind lizard face. Maybe a dragon or a dracolisk. She didn't know or care.

He started to lean towards her, like he wanted to squish his disgusting mouth against hers. It would have been most unfortunate because then she would have had to dump him face first into the Fallow Mire and watch, laughing, while the undead pulled him to pieces. He was fortunate help came. 

Cole appeared behind him, hair mussed, his patched hat pulled forward, partially obscuring his eyes. He caught the man's arm and pulled him back a half step.

"You're very tired," he said, "You've had too much to drink. It would make your wife sad if she knew and you don't want to make her sad. You want to go to sleep."

"I'm very tired," the man repeated, "I've had too much to drink and I want to go to sleep. I don't want to make my wife sad."

"Yes, that would be best," Ellana said. Sleeping it off was preferable to being fed to undead corpses.

The man went glassy eyed and blank and he made his way out of the hall. She didn't unclench her fists until the door shut behind him. There was much she didn't understand about Cole's abilities. She was never quite certain it wouldn't wear off and the person he was "helping" wouldn't be thoroughly pissed off. 

"Nicely done," Ellana said. Cole gave her a very small smile.

"Too much noise. So many masks. Don't know what to do with my hands. They wouldn't miss anything. No one would know,"Cole said.

"Yes, that's an accurate description of my evening," she said, "Thank you for getting rid of that idiot."

"You didn't want to hurt him," he said, "It would have made trouble for Josephine. I wanted to help."

"That's why we're so lucky to have you Cole," she said. She meant it. He was strange all of the time, but he meant well. His helping usually turned out well enough. 

He would have made the Thalmor Embassy debacle a lot less bloody. 

"You don't want to be here," Cole said, looking suddenly very sad.

"I'm not much for parties like this," she said. Being groped by drunken assholes was high on her list of Do Not Want, right below dancing and doomed diplomatic meetings during civil wars. Also, the rite of tranquility. The more Tranquil she met the less impressed she was with the Chantry's way of handling things.

"I want to help you," Cole said, "Please." It was the please that did her in. He had asked to help her before and she said no. Her problems were too complicated. If she couldn't navigate them, she couldn't dump them on someone like Cole. He was too good.

But his "please" and the frustration of the evening weakened her resolve.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked. She hoped she wasn't going to regret this.

He looked vexed.

"I don't know. There's too many hurts," he said.

"Then something small," she said, "What is the easiest?" The one that would cause him the least trouble. Something stupid like finding something she'd misplaced or stopping Cabot from watering her ale---she'd started to suspect he was only doing it to hers. The jerk. 

"You don't like the party," he said. 

"I don't like the party," she said. He was right. Poor Josephine. She'd put so much work into it. There was just too much temptation, too much distraction. Too much everything. 

And the air smelled terrible---sweat and smoke and a strange musky (repulsive) incense Vivienne had thought would tantalize the party goers. Strangely enough, she'd been right. The people seemed to love it. Blech. 

The usually delicious food had been replaced with Orlesian delicacies, most of which were arranged into elaborate food sculptures. Ellana had long since given up trying to figure out how to "properly" eat whatever they were. Let the dipshits be scandalized, she had decided, and went with stuffing things in her mouth until Josephine caught her and steered her away from the table. 

She was still hungry.

Cole looked thoughtful.

"The cook made honey cakes for tomorrow," he said.

Her ears perked up. Honey cakes weren't sweet rolls, not even close, but they weren't bad.

"Honey cakes?" she asked. He grinned as he caught her by the sleeve.

"They made more then they need," Cole said. Gods bless you, Cole, she thought. 

And she let him lead her to the kitchen.


	26. And That's How The Fight Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana has uninvited guests quite some time after returning to Skyrim.

Out of all the people she would have expected to find sitting in her chair and drinking Argonian Bloodwine with her housecarl, Abelas was not one of them. Neither was Dorian. Cole, though, he was on the list. Somewhere below Marcurio but above Irileth. 

"Ellana, fancy finding you here!" Dorian said, his voice bright and full of false cheer, "How have you been?" He looked well enough, but angry. His hair was longer, and instead of the armor she'd gifted him, he was wearing red Tevinter silks and silverite. Cole was as unadorned as always. And Abelas wore his bizarre form fitting armor. 

"They said they were friends," Lydia said. 

She was quick to read Ellana's face. Dorian and Cole were friends, yes, but Abelas? He had been about as far up his own butt as anyone could be. He'd been quite clear how disgusted he was at the thought they were of the same people. He'd been right but not for his reasons. They weren't of the same people because she was from a different world. 

"He said they were friends," Abelas said, gesturing to Dorian, "I said no such thing." His scowl was both frightening and glorious. 

"How---?" she started to ask but then felt foolish, "What are you doing here?" Cole was feeding crumbs to what looked suspiciously like the mice that had been nightly raiding the pantry. He dropped the tiny bits between the floorboards to engrossed with the act to look up. 

Dorian rested his elbows on the arm rests and steepled his fingers. He looked over the tops of his fingertips at her. 

"The how we came to be here is much more impressive," he said, "I do admit I've out done myself. But as for the what? You left a bit of a mess behind and I thought you might like the opportunity to help clean it up." NO. If cleaning up the mess meant going back to Thedas, she knew just the place Dorian could stick his little idea. 

"Where is the orb?" Abelas demanded. Lydia looked like she wanted to eject him from the premises. Maybe that wasn't a terrible idea.

"Yes, right to the point," Dorian said, "He's a barrel of fun." The look Abelas gave him was murderous.

"The orb is gone," she said, "Best if you put it out of your thoughts." Forever. No threats or bribes would be big enough to make her venture down that path of foolishness. Even Ellana had limits to the level of dumb she was willing to descend. 

"I don't believe you," Abelas said.

"I don't care," she snapped.

"Well, that complicates things," Dorian said. Doesn't it always, she thought.

"Please don't tell me you need it in order to go home," she said. 

He'd just have to be stuck here if that was the case. He could stay in Breezehome and she'd go back to Riften until he stopped being mad at her. If he stopped being mad at her. She had more than a few doubts. And Abelas figure his own shit out. She wasn't extending any invitations until she knew for sure he wasn't planning on gutting her in her sleep. 

"No, no, nothing like that," Dorian said, "We're having a bit of a problem with your favorite apostate hobo and we thought it might help to stop him from destroying the world. Nothing important."

'The Dread Wolf is not an apostate hobo," Abelas said.

"He wore the same sweater every day for an entire year," Dorian said, "He qualifies."

Abelas sighed.

"That reminds me," Dorian said, "You bloody well knew he was the Dread Wolf and you didn't say anything."

"She wanted to," Cole said. He stopped feeding the mice just long enough to snag a half loaf of the dry, crusty bread from the table. Then, he settled back into his place and started tearing tiny pieces off to pass through to the rodents. She doubted protesting would convince him to stop. 

Dorian rolled his eyes. 

"Cole, do try to remember that discussion we had about "wants" not meaning shit," Dorian said, "Not when someone is trying to destroy the world."

"He doesn't want to destroy the world. He just can't see another way," Cole said.

"Yes, and what he wants to do can go fuck itself because what he's actually doing is terrible," Dorian said, "And so help you all if we make it back and he's already ruined everything. I did not tear down the walls between worlds just to fail."

"I'd say you have strange friends," Lydia said, "But I don't think I have the right to act surprised about it."

"We're not friends," Abelas said.

"Why are you even here?" Ellana asked, "Shouldn't you be helping Solas? He's one of your precious elfy elves. Why aren't you helping him break things?" Did she really want an answer? She wasn't sure. 

Abelas glared at her, but it seemed slightly less hostile---if that made sense. 

"My reasons are my own," he said.

Ellana tensed. That was an answer you gave when you were planning to turn on your allies. It was an answer you gave when you didn't want anyone to object to your bullshit.

"No," she said, "If you want my help, you're going to tell me why. I want the truth--"

Dorian laughed.

"Do you remember that time you lied to everyone about everything and then ran off with a mystical artifact that almost destroyed the world and an elven god desperately wants it so he can try to destroy the world himself this time?" Dorian asked, "I love you, Stupid, but you don't exactly have the moral high ground. Just take my word. Abelas is not allied with Solas. Accept it and move on."

She shut her mouth. He was right.

"And another thing," Dorian continued, "You led me to believe you were some kind of wandering nomad, but you own land. You're the Thane of not one but two cities and also apparently some kind of chosen one with actual and literal god granted magical abilities. Several gods, if dear Lydia is to be believed, and to be honest she's a little more credible than you, my dear. You didn't tell me any of it. I had to find out second hand. I have half a mind to stay cross with you for the rest of your life."

"Damn it, Lydia," she said.

"It's common knowledge," Lydia said, "If you want me to keep secrets, you need to write it all down so I know what to say when strangers stop in for a visit."

"It's only fair," Dorian agreed, "She can't very well carry all your burdens and be expected to keep track of your lies too. At least make a nice little chart for her."

Lydia looked like she didn't appreciate his help. She huffed and went about liberating the bread from Cole. He protested and muttered something about hungry bellies, but Lydia was not one to be swayed. 

"If you keep feeding them, they keep coming back," she said.

"Yes," Cole said, as if that was the whole point.

Ellana took a deep breath.

"I can't get you the orb. What else do you want me to do?" she asked.

"Where is the orb?" Abelas asked, "Humor me."

"Out of reach," she said, "So far out of reach you can't even begin to imagine it." Yes, she thought, you don't like it when people talk in riddles and only pretend to answer your questions. 

"I don't think you know of what I am capable," Abelas said. His eyes went dark, and for a moment, she thought he was going to reach for his weapon, but Lydia must have had the same thought. She put herself between him and Ellana.

"I think you've overstayed your welcome," Lydia said.

"Have I?" Abelas asked. He stood, moving deliberately slow, savoring the long second it took to pull himself to his full height. The corners of his mouth tugged up in an almost-smile.

"You most certainly have," Lydia said.

"Vishante kaffas, sit down, Abelas, and shut it," Dorian said, "It's just harmless posturing. He'll behave." Dorian shot him one of his special "You are the king of idiots" looks, usually reserved for Iron Bull shenanigans. 

Lydia was unimpressed.

"He can wait outside," Lydia said, "And young man, if you continue to feed the mice, you'll find yourself waiting with him. Put the bread back. All of it."

Cole looked guilty as he put the second half loaf back on the table. Ellana hadn't even noticed when he'd taken it. 

"They're so hungry," he said, but he sat down, his hands folded in his lap. 

"Good. They can seek food elsewhere," Lydia said, "I'm tired of cleaning up after them." She'd put out poison several times already, but the mice were too smart. They knew what to avoid and what was safe to eat. 

"Ellana, please tell your scary butler Abelas can stay," Dorian said, "He's all talk, really."

"Housecarl," Lydia said, "I'm a housecarl, not a butler." She turned her glare on Dorian. 

"Fine, housecarl. Please tell your scary housecarl she doesn't need to throw Abelas out of your home," Dorian said, "He's needed for the second half of the explanation. I promise." Damn it, Dorian.

"Fine, yes, he can stay," Ellana said. Until Lydia's had enough, and then no power in the world could stop her from forcibly ejecting him from the premises. Ellana almost wanted to see it happen. The look on Abelas' face when Lydia tossed him head over ass out the front door would be brilliant.

Lydia did not return to her seat. 

"Well," she said, "Go on, sit. Don't let me stop you." Abelas stared at her. When it was clear she wasn't moving, he sat. 

"Good," Dorian said, "See, we can all be friends, after all."

"Why won't he stop talking?" Cole asked, "Shrill, whining, he's like a child only worse. How does she stand it? Milk drinkers, the whole lot of them---" And Abelas, damn him, laughed. 

"How are you doing that?" Lydia demanded, "Stop." Fists clenched. Ellana felt the whole damn thing spiraling out of control. There was going to be blood. Cole couldn't have picked a worse person to mind read.

"Lydia, Cole can read minds, but he means well. Everyone just calm down---" she started, but as per usual, no one was listening. 

"I am nothing like a child. I am not shrill. I do not whine," Dorian protested, "And what kind of insult is milk drinkers anyway?"

"An accurate one," Lydia said.

"Pfft," Dorian said.

"Can you please just tell me what you want me to do?" Ellana asked, "Please. This is getting out of hand."

"Without the orb, there's nothing you can do," Abelas said.

"We don't know that," Dorian said.

"Don't we? The anchor is an echo. It is nothing compared to the power he now wields."

She felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. The power he now wields? What the flying fuck did that mean?

"What power?" she asked. No one seemed to want to answer. Even after she repeated herself, Abelas kept staring at Dorian and Dorian kept glaring at Lydia. 

"Dorian, focus," she said, "What is Abelas talking about? What power?"

"If you hadn't stolen the orb and fucked off to parts unknown, you'd know," Dorian said, "Solas thought it would be lovely to take Mythal's powers and now he can turn people to stone. He's stupidly powerful. Godlike."

:"And he's going to destroy the world," Abelas said, "He has enough power. He'll probably succeed. This is your fault. If you had any sense of honor, you'd return the orb. We can't hope to defeat him without it." It was all just a really terrible dream she couldn't wake up from---Solas, the orb, Thedas. No matter what she did, it just kept coming back at her.

"I told you the orb is gone," she said.

"And I told you, I don't believe you," Abelas said.

"Watch your tone," Lydia said.

"I will not."

"Dim witted, stubborn, typical of her species," Cole said, "It's a waste of time talking to her. She can't possibly understand."

"What did you say?" Lydia asked.

"Cole's just repeating the thoughts he hears," Ellana said, "He doesn't mean any of that." Gods, this was a disaster. How much bloodwine had they consumed?

"Your ignorance is astounding," Abelas said.

"What did you say?" Lydia asked, turning on him. 

Someone threw the first punch. Possibly Lydia, possibly Abelas, but Ellana couldn't be sure who. She was too busy side stepping to avoid the worst of it. Dorian followed, ducking under Abelas' fist to get to relative safety. 

In the confusion, Cole snatched the bread off the table and started feeding the mice again. If she didn't know better, she'd have sworn he started this on purpose, just so he could resume his "helping". But that was ridiculous.

Wasn't it?


	27. I'm Not Going To Do That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That time they expected Ellana to collect malachite and veridium to make ceremonial burial armor. Set around the first excursion into the Exalted Plains, shortly after finding Skyhold.

"No," Ellana said, "I am not doing that." 

Of all the ridiculous requests, this one had to come when she was at the very frayed ends of her patience. Everyone needed things from her. Everyone demanded instead of asking, and then when she couldn't immediately jump to answer their precious orders, they threw the adult version of a child's tantrum. 

Her advisers had the good grace to look abashed.

"I understand how it sounds," Josephine said, "But it would help us immeasurably." 

Somehow, Ellana doubted that. The last request had gotten a nobleman to wave his hand and make a vague promise for a very minor (and very measurable) amount of support. There was also the endless mineral surveys that never amounted to anything. And the herb gathering. And so forth. And so on. It left her with no time to think let alone breathe. 

Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen stared at her.

"No," she repeated.

"Inquisitor," Leliana said, reproachfully. Ellana did not meet her gaze. She didn't trust herself not to snarl, and Leliana still scared her a little. 

"Nope, that doesn't help your case," Ellana said, "If I have to be the Inquisitor and if I'm expected to track Corypheus' movements, I am not running gather and fetch quests. Ask anyone else." Any number of the volunteer soldiers. Or better yet, send someone to one of Orlais' many jewelry stores. One of the merchants was bound to have the stones needed. Malachite should not be as rare as they made it out to be.

"But there is no one else," Josephine said. Ha! Liar!

Ellana stared at her until she looked away. No one else? What good was the damn Inquisition if they expected the Inquisitor to do every single stupid thing every single stupid noble was too lazy to see to themselves? 

"You have almost everything we need anyway," Leliana said, "Just one more piece of malachite. It will be easy."

"I have to make my own armor. Myself," Ellana said, "I have to gather the metal and leather and cloth Myself. I have to track down the schematics, myself. I have to piece it together and fit it to my body by. my. self. If Captain Dickery wants special ceremonial burial armor, he can damn well do it himself."

Cullen tried to hide his snicker, but was vastly unsuccessful. Josephine elbowed him in the stomach. He choked down a pathetic yelp of pain. 

"This is for a Nevarran noble house, not a man named Captain Dickery," Josephine said, "That is terribly disrespectful."

"Good. I'm feeling rather disrespected." She had been in the middle of a very serious discussion with Cassandra about the last chapter of Sword and Shields and the Guard-Captain's current predicament. Varric was about to turn the romance into a tragedy and he was in for it if he did. He was mean enough to kill off main characters. He was mean enough to kill them in terrible, unforgivable ways.

"I'm...sorry," Josephine said, "That was not our intention."

"I'm not sure what your intentions were then, because asking me to fight enemies and then check their corpses for tiny pieces of malachite is the most ridiculous request you've made of me. And I distinctly remember someone asking me to talk a glowing, talking farm animal into going home."

"There are plenty of other requisitions you could fill," Leliana said, "I suppose it doesn't have to be that one. We only thought it would be the easiest. You are only missing one piece of---"

"Don't care. Not doing any of it," she said, "Unless I happen to stumble across everything I need. Then, maybe, but I'm not going out of my way for this. Again."

"Fine," Josephine said, her mouth set in a thin line. She did not bother to hide her frustration. 

Besides, when was the last time any of them returned the favor? She had to run all over the continent doing shit tasks and no one could be bothered to even attempt to purchase or make half way decent sweet rolls. 

Solas got plenty of his precious, fancy, fluffy cakes, and Sera got her stupid bees. Leliana got special honeyed wine. Blackwall got everything he needed to build whatever he wanted to build. But Ellana wasn't afforded one measly, pathetic sweet roll. 

If that Nevarran noble family wanted the armor that badly, they could find the malachite and make it themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has not been a great week for writing.


	28. Another Horrible Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course, they kidnapped her. Of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would have continued this sooner but my computer decided my three thousand word update was unworthy so it ate it. And my back up copy. I wish I was lying. 
> 
> My apologies for any characters that seem different and for the delay, I have no idea how often this will be updated. I'm still rather butthurt. 
> 
> This isn't even close to what I wanted it to be.

When she woke, she was upside down, uncomfortable, and slung over the shoulder of an armored soon to be dead man. Her hands were tied, her head ached, and Cole was staring at her.

The sky was wrong.

The moons were wrong.

The feel of the air was wrong. Oh Gods no. She knew exactly where she was and she was going to be sick. This was a nightmare. 

"Hello," Cole said.

"I am going to give you all a head start and then I'm going to kill you," she said, "How does two minutes sound?"

There was a hand perilously close to her ass. She was going to break that off first. And then she was going to feed it to Abelas, because it was quite clear he was the asshole carrying her. She knew that horrible armor.

"Oh don't be like that," Dorian said, from somewhere at the front of the now doomed party, "Think of it as a surprise vacation."

"I'll think of it as a surprise funeral," she said, "Yours. This isn't Thedas. Tell me this isn't Thedas."

"Oh, fine, this isn't Thedas," Dorian said.

"But it is Thedas," Cole said.

"Shut up, Cole," Dorian said, "Please."

"The real question is who do I kill first," she said, "Obviously, Cole gets to live because I doubt he understands the gravity of the situation, but you, Dorian, you should have known better."

Abelas shifted suddenly, making her slide forward. He dug his hand into her thigh to stop her from falling.

"Do shut up," he said, "I wouldn't want to have to drop you."

"Abelas it is then," she said, "Did I ever tell you what a colossal tit you are? What kind of idiot sleeps in a temple for thousands of years while his civilization is burning? You put out the fucking fire, you don't go to sleep. Even the smallest, dumbest child knows that."

His grip turned painful. She was going to have to forgo sticking him full of daedric arrows, she realized. She didn't think they were dumb enough to bring any of her weapons so she was going to have to resort to an ethereal blade to the soft squishy parts not protected by armor. Abelas did have such a pretty throat. 

"On second thought," he said, "Dropping you will likely be the highlight of my day. Do continue. Please."

Fus Ro Dah was all it would take to knock him on his ass. Fus. Ro. Dah. They hadn't thought to gag her. They should have. Why hadn't they?

She tested the ropes binding her wrists. They were too tight, unyielding. She could burn through them with little trouble, but she had a suspicion she wouldn't be fast enough to summon her blade, recover her footing, and convince Dorian to send her back all in the same moment. Her chances of returning on her own were slim, unless she wanted to risk opening another risk on the off chance Nocturnal was feeling charitable enough to bring her back home again. 

It was never a good idea to count on Nocturnal's charity.

The Dread Wolf was going to kill her the moment he realized she was back. He was going to kill her and then she was going to be stuck as a spirit in this hell world. She has had worse days, but not by much.

Why did this kind of shit keep happening?

Cole tilted his head to the side, his eyes as wide as saucers. 

"Stop looking at me like that," she snapped. Hun Kaal Zoor was another good choice---regardless of who appeared, Gormlaith or Hakon or Felldir, it would be satisfying to watch Abelas try to piece together what was happening right before they turned him into a corpse.

But the summon wouldn't differentiate between friend and foe and Dorian and Cole would likely end up dead too. Also, she didn't really hate Abelas. She just hated him right now. And she hated his hand. And his shoulder. And even though she couldn't see it, his smug, stupid sentinel face.

The anchor was not as painful as she remembered. It felt dull, dormant. It felt the way it did when she was in Skyrim.

"How did you get past Lydia?" she asked, "Cole, tell me."

If they hurt her, if they so much as thought about hurting her---

"Oh pfft," Dorian said, "Your scary butler is fine. I opened another nice portal and we walked through. What did you think we did? Murdered everyone in that dreary little town? We are civilized in case you've forgotten."

"I hate you and I hate every last one of your milk drinking ancestors," she said.

"That's not very nice," he said, "I thought we were friends."

"We were before you decided to kidnap me, you glorious Tevinter asshole," she said, "Untie me and put me down. I have two feet. I can walk."

Abelas laughed.

"And you can stuff it," she snapped, "I'm not going to run off. I need your stupid magic to get home."

"A fair point," Abelas said, "And you're much heavier than you look."

She felt her tongue curl to form Fus. Just a puff of breath is all it would have taken, she could have knocked him down and buried her knee in his chestplate. It would have been so easy. She didn't even care if she hurt herself in the process. It would have been worth it.

He stopped and slid her off his shoulder, onto her feet. He didn't bother to untie her though. She burned through the ropes herself, uncaring if they saw and tried to stop her. 

"Where are we?" she asked. A forest but not one she recognized.

"You have more important things to worry about," Dorian said, "Instead of yelling at us, you should be thinking about what you're going to say when Cassandra gets her hands on you. Well, and Sera. And Cullen. And Vivienne. And Josephine, especially Josephine---"

"I get the point," she said.

"Lovely, because we're almost there," Dorian said.

"Almost where?" she asked. She looked around, confused. There was nothing her but forest. Forest and a few pathetic stones that look like at one point they might have been a part of some man made structure. They weren't even close to the mountains. There was no sign of Skyhold or Haven or snow.

"Our new base camp," Dorian continued, and his tone said, clearly she'd taken a few too many blows to the head.

"Why are we---we're not going to Skyhold?" she asked.

Cole was still staring at her.

"No," Dorian said, through gritted teeth, "We are not going to Skyhold."

"Why?" she asked.

She tried not to look at Cole, but it was difficult. He was making her uncomfortable.

"Because the Dread Wolf is a dick, Ellana," he snapped, "He had spies in our ranks and they caused a bit of a stir in the Winter Palace. We took the blame. Oh and Fereldan didn't look too kindly on the Inquisitor fucking off with a powerful ancient artifact that almost destroyed the world. What did you think would happen?"

Oh. Well. It was impossible not to feel like a villain after that. 

"I'm sorry, Dorian, really. I am," she said. Only for the trouble it caused. She'd do it again, almost exactly the same. She'd been home. She had found a way to lift the curse. Things were almost good until they weren't. 

"Don't be sorry," he said, "Do something about it. The Dread Wolf wants to destroy the world. He thinks we're all too weak and stupid to do anything. Are you going to stand by and let him? After you left, in the few moments before he left, he said quite a few colorful things about the level of your intelligence. My Elvhen is rusty, but I'm pretty sure he called you the Elvhen equivalent of a festering pustule on the asshole of existence."

"He's one to talk," she muttered, shooting Cole a sideways glance.

"That is not what he said," Abelas said.

"You don't know. You weren't there," Dorian said.

"I know you don't speak Elvhen."

"Cole, so help me, if you don't stop staring at me---" she started, but she regretted it when he answered her.

"You look different here now," he said, "It was harder to tell where we were because the world was different. Everything was loud and bright, but here, I can see it. There aren't as many chains. You are almost yourself again"

Abelas cleared his throat, an eyebrow arching up. He glanced at her for an explanation, but she didn't feel like explaining. She smelled smoke and heard movement in the distance---the sounds of cooking and sparring and quiet talking. The camp really was just up ahead.

Cassandra was going to murder her.


	29. Rotten Tomatoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra isn't taking the betrayal very well.

It was a nice tree. The branches were broad and sturdy. They were just close enough together to make it difficult for armored person or persons to climb properly. She was going to sit here forever.

"You have to come down some time. And when you do, I am going to tie you up and throw you in the river."

Cassandra was a lovely shade of red. Her sword was so sharp and clean, Ellana was reluctant to come down to stain it with her pretty, life giving blood. No, she was definitely staying in the tree. She could learn to survive on leaves and bark. She could give up soap and water and a happy, well adjusted life.

It was easy.

"I said I'm sorry," she shouted down, "What more do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say nothing," Cassandra said, through gritted teeth, "I want you to return the orb and then I want to watch while a fear demon feasts on your liver."

How long would Cassandra's temper run hot, she wondered. A day? A week? Longer? 

"If you wait a while, Solas will probably kill me for you," she said, "He's an elvhen god, he'll probably turn me into a cow or something and then feed me to a giant. It's a bit more exciting than a fear demon."

Why couldn't she shut her mouth? She could see herself. She could see her lips moving and she could hear her stupid, snippy voice. But she couldn't make it stop. Cassandra was going to give up, strip out of her armor, and come at her. Or she was going to send Sera up to boot her to the ground.

She didn't want to die. 

Something hit the side of the tree, right by her face. It thwacked and something wet spattered her face. When she wiped it away, she saw slippery, stringy egg white and yolk and bits of white shell. She heard Sera's obnoxious laughter and then another egg hit her in the chest. And then another.

She wasn't wearing armor.

It kind of hurt. A bit.

"Give those back right this instant! We are not wasting eggs," a shrill voice called from across the camp. 

She caught a glimpse of Josephine, still in fine silks of gold and blue. She snatched the basket of eggs out of Sera's hands and handed her a bucket, a scrap of cloth draped over the top. Sera peeled back the cover and made gagging sounds.

"We don't waste eggs when we have rotten tomatoes," Josephine said.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming down!" Ellana said, "Don't throw anything else at me. Don't kill me. Please. You wanted me to help you fight the dread wolf. I can't very well do it if I'm bleeding to death."

Sera hurled one of the squishy tomatoes at her anyway. It caught her arm as she started her descent. 

"Damn it, Sera, cut it out!"

"Stuff it, Fakequisitor," she said, "I don't take orders from arseholes who let other arseholes try to destroy the world."

Josephine nodded in agreement.

"I agree wholeheartedly, Sera, please, continue," she said.

Why hadn't she summoned a fire atronach in the middle of their camp? Right now, she couldn't remember. 

"Don't you dare," she said, "One more Sera and I will hit you with my scary elf magic. I'm not from this world, remember? I have all kinds of horrifying things I could do." She didn't have any horrifying magic anyway. Vivienne and Dorian would have laughed at her attempts.

Well, except for the fire atronach. They might have taken a second look at that. 

"No. That only makes it worse," Cole said. He was sitting above her in the tree, staring down, looking horribly sad.

"Then help me and make her stop throwing things," she said. 

"But it makes her feel better," he says.

"And it makes me feel worse. YOU KIDNAPPED ME," she said. A tomato hit her in the shoulder. Squishy, stinky, disgusting and putrid. It soaked through her shirt. They had every right to be angry, but this was juvenile.

Still, it was better than dying. At least they weren't throwing knives.

"Do you want my help or not?" she shouted at whoever was listening. She wasn't even half way down, she could easily climb back up again, higher. She could open a rift and go back into the Fade. She could take her chances with the horrifying spider demons. 

"I don't know if we can afford your kind of help," Cassandra said, her eyes narrowed., her scowl glorious and frightening.

"Well then, fuck you. Send me back," she said. Hadn't she stopped Cassandra from murdering Varric once? Where was his ungrateful ass right now?

"Enough! Now, all of you, stop this at once!" Leliana's voice shouted over the din. Sera stopped, her hand half raised, her fingers digging in to the too soft flesh of another tomato. The putrid juice ran down her arm. 

When Leliana finally appeared, Ellana was almost blinded by the shine of her armor. It was a brilliant gold, polished to perfection. The Chantry's symbol was emblazoned across her chest. It was not the usual armor of the Inquisition.

Shit. 

Shit. 

Shit.

Something told her Leliana wasn't just the spymaster anymore. 

"You should be ashamed of yourselves," Leliana said, "This behavior is beneath you. All of you. Inquisitor, come down from there, immediately. Cassandra, stand down."

"As you wish," Cassandra said, but her hands were still fists at her sides. 

Somehow, Ellana doubted defying Leliana would end well. She dropped the rest of the way to the ground, but when she turned, Cassandra was still too close. Her fist connected with Ellana's chin before she even knew it was coming.

It fucking hurt. 

A lot.

"Really, Cassandra, really?" she asked. 

"Yes. Really."

Leliana said nothing. She waited for Cassandra to shake it off and walk away before she looked at Ellana. Her eyes were like ice, her gaze cold, hard. Terrifying. It was the stare of a woman who had no qualms about slitting a person's throat in their sleep.

She'd been wrong about her. She wouldn't have suited the Thieves Guild. She would have been called to the Dark Brotherhood.

"It is good to see you again," Leliana said, "Now, we are going to have a talk. If I like what I hear, perhaps things will go well for you. How does that sound?"

Like I should summon Durnehviir to eat you, she thought, and she gave her a pathetic smile.

This was not going to get better.


	30. A Friendly Chat with Iron Bull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Bull has a few things to tell her.

A tankard of ale appeared in front of her on the ground. The camp had gone quiet and she could feel people watching her. It was unpleasant. She preferred being in the shadows for a reason. 

"Here. You look like you need it." 

Iron Bull huffed as he sat across from her. He folded his legs under him, hands on his knees. He didn't come close to her level, but she appreciated the effort. He couldn't be very comfortable.

"Thank you," she said. She was pleased to note it wasn't the usual watered down swill Cabot served. It had a bit of body to it, flavor and kick. He was right. She did need this. Her nerves were just about shot. 

"So," he said after a moment had passed.

"Yes?"

"So, here's the thing," he said, "You're a terrible liar. You know that right?"

"It might have been mentioned.

"Good, because at this point I don't think it's a good idea to keep trying," he said, "Just, go for the truth. It'll be easier in the long run."

"Noted," she said. She still had dried rotten tomato goo stuck to her shirt. She didn't care to add to it. 

"And for the record, I had you pegged pretty early on," he said, grinning, "I won a good bit of coin. You might want to avoid Krem for a while."

She took another drink.

"What was the bet?"

"What you were really, whether or not you'd crack and admit it, and how long before you disappeared," he said, "I guessed a city elf who was taken in by the Avvar and trained to be a thief. I said you wouldn't crack unless directly confronted about it with proof, and that you'd disappear right after the defeat of Corypheus. Got most it right."

'That was oddly specific. What did Krem guess?"

"Escaped slave taken in by the Dalish. Thought you'd tell everyone the truth on the eve of the battle and then decide to stick around."

"Oh," she said. She liked Krem--all of the Chargers, even Grim. They didn't push for details when it was clear she didn't want to give them and they were oddly accepting. She really hoped Skinner and Dalish weren't angry. Not so much because Skinner was more than a little terrifying, but because they had made her feel the most at home. 

"Yeah," he said, "Varric's was the next best guess, in case you were wondering."

"Was everyone in on this?" she asked. She hadn't thought she was that terrible. She knew she was bad, but if everyone had known---why the shit had she bothered? All that aggravation had been for nothing.

"Cullen and Cassandra didn't know. Josephine pretended she thought we were wrong and Leliana didn't bet. She said it wouldn't be fair to take our money."

She sighed.

"What did Varric guess?"

"Tevinter assassin and blood mage living with the Dalish to hide from her illicit past," he said, "He thought Solas would get you to confess that night in the Winter Palace in the middle of---well, you probably don't want all the details. He thought you'd leave after the battle too. Some tragic romantic crap. Oh by the way, the blood mage assassin thing is what ended up in the book."

She was going to crawl into a hole and die. And then, she was going to resurrect and die again. Instead she took another drink and then set it on the ground in front of her. 

"Of course he wrote a book," she said.

"He kept the werewolf thing too and the shit with Solas. Called it---Bloody Hearts, Bloody Lies, Bloody Moon," he said, "He's itching to finish the sequel so yeah. You might want to watch yourself."

Lydia was never going to let her live this down. She was going to tell Marcurio and they were going to laugh until they choked on their tongues. She buried her face in her palms.

Iron Bull patted her too hard on the back. She didn't fall but she pitched forward. She kept her hands firmly in place. Maybe if she couldn't see the camp, she could pretend she was at home and not the heroine in one of Varric's smut novels.

Because there was no way a novel with that title didn't contain many, many terribly written sex scenes. Varric would have had to picture her naked. He would have spent actual time thinking about her lady parts. Oh. Gods. 

Somehow, it was worse than waking up with a glowing mark on her hand. It was worse than almost freezing to death. It was worse than Vivienne and Solas forcing her to learn that stupid barrier spell. 

"Hey now, it's not so bad," Iron Bull said, but he was wrong. It was worse than bad. She could just imagine the cover art. Copious amounts of cleavage and rippling muscles, and blood. There would be blood. 

Oh Gods, the male model would probably be bald and look a little too much like Solas. He was probably wearing The Sweater, torn open at the front. Why was this happening?

WHY?

"I mean, the book's terrible," Iron Bull said, "But you'll pull through. Now, there is one thing I need to know."

She looked at him through her fingers. One thing? Just one thing? She was from another world. He couldn't have possibly limited his curiosity to just one question.

"One thing?" she asked, her voice muffled through her palm.

His grin was unsettling and his eyes sparkled. He leaned forward.

"Tell me everything about the dragons."


	31. I'm Not That Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It went better than she expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not meant to be a wedged into strict game rules. This is a loose crossover.  
> It is likely this will be going on hiatus again. Possibly indefinitely.

It was the inner circle plus Abelas. Blackwall stopped to pat her on the shoulder---he smiled and nodded, probably intending to be encouraging, and then joined the others. She was not encouraged though.

They couldn't possibly understand. Well, except for Abelas and he acted like she still had some kind of a choice.

Story time was unlikely to convince anyone. She didn't even know where to start. With Nocturnal? With Dovahkiin? 

"Very well, what do you want to know?" she asked, but at the sight of Iron Bull's eager face, she changed her mind, "Anything that isn't about dragons. Please."

For a long moment, no one spoke. Josephine, still furious as ever, looked from face to face. When no one rushed forward with questions, she stood.

"Allow me to begin, Inquisitor," she said, "Give me a moment to collect my thoughts---yes, there it is. What in Andraste's sweet name were you thinking? Your actions have put everything we worked for at risk. We were chased out of Fereldan. CHASED. Do you have any idea how hard it was just to keep us all alive? If not for Leliana, the Chantry could have demanded our executions. There was talk. I was barely able to convince King Alistair we were not involved in your deception. We lost everything."

Ellana cringed.

"And that says nothing for what it took to protect Dorian. Do you know how many people thought he should be made Tranquil? No, don't guess, I'll tell you. All but one member of the council. If not for Leliana, we would probably be at war with Tevinter right now. Did you even think about what would happen to us? Just for one moment, did you remember just how many lives depended upon you?"

That was...fair. She hadn't gone that far, just the immediate consequences. But the thought of Dorian being made Tranquil made her sick to her stomach. 

She couldn't even imagine returning to find him like that.

Josephine didn't look quite as put together as she usually did. She looked exhausted. She looked like she was stressed to the breaking point. And none of the others looked much better.

"I didn't realize what would happen to you," she said, "I wish there could have been another way---I am sorry for that, but---"

"You wish there could have been another way," Josephine said and her voice fell flat, "I don't even---I just can't. If you don't see the many, many other paths you could have taken, I don't know that this conversation can continue."

It was impossible not to be angry at that. 

"Do you want me to tell you or is this little meeting just so you can yell at me?" she asked, "I didn't have a choice."

"There is always a choice," Cullen said, "Don't pretend there isn't." His face said this was a waste of time. She suspected he had been pushing to turn her over to the Chantry. So much for all those shitty chess games she forced herself to bumble through just to make him happy.

Never again.

"Fair enough," she said, "Would you like to know what my choices were? Or perhaps, we should ask Abelas? I think he has an interesting perspective on this."

Abelas crossed his arms over his chest, but his glare was more out of habit than anything. 

"Explain," Josephine said.

"They want to know what would have happened if you ignored Mythal's orders," Ellana said, "That was an option, wasn't it?"

"I don't understand what---"

"Please, humor me," she said, "What would have happened?" His expression went stormy when she interrupted, but she decided she didn't care. She was tired and her shirt was dirty and she had been kidnapped. 

She had never wanted to set foot under the oppressive Veil again, but here she was, once again, against her will. First Nocturnal and then Dorian. She wouldn't deny she'd been wrong to lie to them, but she'd be damned if she'd let them tell her she had a choice.

Abelas huffed a little before answering.

"No. It wasn't possible," he said, "She was wise and fair, but we are still bound by a geas to obey. However, you are not a sentinel."

"Well, not for Mythal," she said, "My goddess is not nearly as forgiving."

The gasp that rippled through the inner circle was defeaning. Abelas lowered his arms to his sides, his face suddenly blank. The irritation was gone. The anger was gone. He caught on quicker than she expected.

"Well, not so much a goddess," she corrected, "But a Daedric Prince. They're much worse in some respects. And unlike your Elvhen pantheon, they weren't powerful mages. They were never like us."

And then, before anyone could interject, she continued, "You don't say no to a daedric prince. Anything you could do to me here is nothing compared to an eternity of torment."

The silence was heavy. 

"I suspected when first we met," Abelas said, "But I didn't really believe---are you bound by a geas?"

"No. Just the threat of being tortured for an eternity, but the way I figure, that's more than enough incentive," she said, "My soul is bound to her. When I die, I will join the other Nightingales and guard the Twilight Sepulcher. And that is if I'm lucky. It is just as likely I'll serve her in the Evergloam. Forever. There is no escape."

"None of us know what that means, dear," Dorian said. Sera had vanished completely and Blackwall looked like he wanted to join her, where ever she was. And Leliana looked like she already knew, though how she could possibly, was a mystery. 

"Good, pray you never find out," Ellana said, trying not to dwell on their reactions, "She commanded me to steal the orb so I did. I helped you close the breech. That was my choice---one of the few." But it hurt. She'd be lying if she said she didn't want them to forgive her. She had lied about so much but never how she felt about them. 

They were more her family than the ones who raised her. 

Cullen looked flustered. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at Leliana, still in her Chantry armor.

"I don't know if I believe this," he said, "Daedric princes? Are they demons? I don't understand."

"Close enough," she said, "More powerful, more vindictive. More dangerous. Some are kinder than others, but in the end, it doesn't matter." Meridia sprang to mind and her eternal quest to eradicate the undead. But for every Meridia there was a Boethiah. For every Azura, there was a Vaermina. Or a Mehrunes Dagon. Or a Molag Bal---

Josephine seemed to deflate. She wasn't simmering with rage, but she still wasn't happy. Ellana supposed she couldn't blame her. The truth didn't fix anything. It didn't change anything. 

"Who are you?" Josephine asked, at last, after it seemed to sink in.

And here it was. Ellana took a deep breath. She let it out slowly before she answered.

"I'm Ellana," she said, "I am the Dragonborn---I am Dovahkiin."

There was another long moment of silence. Then, Dorian cleared his throat.

"Use your words," he said, "No one knows what it is."

Ass.

She sighed.

"You've seen me Shout," she said, "That's what that is. Are there any questions or can we stop now?"

They stared at her like she had lost her mind. Cullen blinked at her, confused.

"That doesn't really tell us anything," he said, "You can't just---you didn't----I don't even know what to say to you." He wasn't the first to be dumbstruck by her and he probably wouldn't be the last. 

"I think I know what Cullen is trying to say," Leliana said, and a frisson of fear raced through Ellana, "You must tell us everything, Inquisitor. Start from the beginning and leave nothing out."

It was going to be a long day.

 

By the time she let Dorian talk her into getting some sleep, things had calmed considerably. They had listened and shockingly enough most had come to some kind of understanding. Cullen and Cassandra were still simmering in a rage, but it was less intense. 

Abelas was even almost friendly and that was just plain creepy. 

She wished she had let Lydia throw them all out. She would have been safe in her own bed and there would be no journeying into the Fade during sleep. Her favorite thing about Skyrim was not having to leave her body to frolic with spider demons in another realm. 

That place was seven levels of shit. And Solas was its king.

He was going to gut her like a trout.

The stupid Fade twisted itself to look like the sewer under the Imperial City. Fitting, she supposed, since most of her early memories were from this place---she used to hide here when she had to escape from the guards. 

There was an old pile of straw in one of the less disgusting corners. She used to sleep in it when it was cold and there was no other choice. Fake, Fade rats stared at her, scolding her when she got too close.

It was just a matter of time before the spiders appeared. It was always just a matter of time. And then another Nightmare demon would tag along to call her a dog again. He'd probably throw her a horrifying picnic with her head as the main course. 

"I had thought the rumors were incorrect," the voice said. And she knew she'd been discovered. It was his stupid, smug voice.

"You'll have to be more specific," she said. She wasn't about to turn around and look at him, but he moved and the sewer melted away. Suddenly, they were standing in a hideous gray expanse of mist and rocks and he was right in front of her.

On the bright side, he had replaced The Sweater with equally hilarious armor. There were horrible faces on his knees---just staring at her. She could almost hear them screaming.

"Where is my orb?" 

"In the Evergloam," she said, "Sorry." Not sorry at all, she added, mentally, because it stopped him from destroying the world. He should have known better by now.

She should have known better by now.

He was terrifying.

"I was going to offer my aid in exchange for the orb, but it seems you don't need my help at all," he said, "The anchor is not hurting you?"

One, how did he know that, and two, what was he talking about? She glanced at her palm.

"It's fine," she said, "But it's nice to know if it wasn't, you would have taken great joy out of my pain. How many times do I have to tell you I can't defy Nocturnal before you get it through your shiny, bald head?"

His scowl deepened. He clasped his hands behind his back, and his spine went stiff.

"I don't know that I can believe anything that comes out of your mouth," he said, "You lie so readily."

"And you don't, I suppose?" she asks, "But wait, you do. It was your damn mistake in the first place that cracked open the sky. You gave your precious magic to an undead magister. You did. And not surprisingly, it went sideways. Even the smallest child knows better than to make a deal with the undead---especially one that looks like it has rocks growing out of its face."

It was definitely her voice coming from her mouth, but still, she couldn't possibly be saying any of this. She was not this stupid. She just wasn't. 

"Charming as ever, I see," he said.

"I've changed my mind, by the way," she said, "I want my copy of Hard in Hightown back. People who try to destroy the world don't get presents." Yep, she was still talking. 

He sighed as he turned away.

"This is pointless," he said.

"Are you going to kill me now?" she asked. She could Shout in the Fade, couldn't she? Fus Ro Dah worked on astral forms, didn't it? Or Call of Valor---she could pull Gormlaith across realms. 

"Again," he said, "Pointless. You don't have what I want and you can't get me what I want. Your death would be meaningless." But still she didn't relax. She couldn't. They were both liars, but he was actually good at it. She couldn't trust anything he said.

"Glad to hear it," she said, "Now take a good long look at the rest of the world you're about to blow the fuck up and come to the same conclusion. Are you really going to kill a whole bunch of innocent people just to lift the Veil?"

Because that was the heart of the problem. She was dragonborn and maybe a bit of a coward, but when innocent people were involved, she couldn't sit down and shut up. No matter how hard she tried or how much she wanted to just walk away, she just couldn't. 

She had already faced down a god and won, what was one more?

"You have no idea what will happen," he said, "People will die, yes, but it...will be worth the cost. This world is an abomination."

Insane. He was completely, out of his enormous head, insane. 

"Well, yes, I agree," she said, "This is a terrible world, but killing a bunch of strangers isn't going to make it all better."

"I'm restoring magic---"

"You're restoring chaos. And you're about to fuck everything up. Again," she said, cutting him off, "It's what you do, Solas. You should have been named the Elvhen god of getting things wrong, because if you blow up the sky that's what you've done. You've gotten it wrong. Find a way to bring the Veil down and not kill people. For Gods sake, Solas, you're not a monster. Stop trying to turn yourself into one."

He looked back at her, turned back toward her, and she couldn't read his expression. He seemed to be thinking something over, weighing it in his mind

"I take no joy in what I must do. I wish there was a better way," he said, "But there isn't. This is the path I must walk---"

Oh for fucks sake. How could she get a headache in the Fade? Technically, wasn't she just a spirit right now? She shouldn't feel much of anything, but she sure did. The more he talked, the worse she felt. 

"Are all of your people so damned melodramatic?" she asked, "What's the rush? Aren't you immortal? Take a breath and take your damned time and think about this."

Even after he had revealed himself to be the Dread Wolf, he was still better than this. He was still sane. This was just wrong. 

"I have waited too long already," he said.

"I hate this place," she continued, "But I don't want to see it destroyed. Maybe I don't know you as well as I thought, but I know this isn't you. You're a good person, Solas, you can't do this." And what was wrong with her? SHE WAS STILL TALKING. WHY?

His shoulders slumped and his expression softened. He looked...sad. Impossibly, terribly sad.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're not even listening," she said, "Don't do this."

"Goodbye, Ellana," he said, and then, he was smiling and it was twisted, "Stay out of my way. I don't want to kill you, I might actually like you. A little. But I will if I have to. Go home. Forget about all of this."

"Not a chance," she said. She had not done anything stupid lately. She was well over due.

He nodded.

"I suspected as much," he said, "Very well, then."

"And what about Hard in Hightown?" she asked, "I wasn't kidding. I want it back."

He snorted.

"Well, then, you shouldn't have given it away," he said, "I'm not giving it back."

"Ass," she said.

But then he paused, he tilted his head, and she thought, maybe, she'd gone a little too far.

"Would you like something else?" he asked, and he was in her personal space. His tone was calm and even and they may as well have been discussing the weather. She was sufficiently disturbed.

"What?"

"A gift?" he asked, "I have something I think you could use."

Yes, she definitely needed to ask Josephine to help her brush up on her "Shutting the hell up" skills. She stared at him dumbly and didn't know what to say.

And then he smiled and it was infuriating.

"What gift?" she asked, "And if you say anything about a dagger to the kidney, we can't be friends." And we already can't be friends, she added mentally.

"Nothing quite like that," he said, still laughing at her, "It's a spell."

NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.

"I think I'll pass," she said. Fus Ro Dah was sounding better and better as the seconds ticked by. If he thought she was going to trust his magic, ever, he was out of his gourd.

"It will help you with your---what did you call it---daedric prince?"

Her Fade body went cold, her throat dry. What is he getting at, she wondered, and how badly is it going to ruin things for her? She was often stupid, but she wasn't this stupid.

"I'd rather have Hard in Hightown, if it's all the same," she said.

"Another time, perhaps," he said.

And then, he was gone and she was stuck staring at the stupid, swirling gray mists. He didn't even have to decency to put everything back the way it was.


	32. That Time With The Barrier Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas gets what he wants. He's still not happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place before the defeat of Corypheus.

His exasperation was mildly satisfying. 

"Just try it, please," he said.

"How about no," she said. She was not doing this. He could go choke on a bag of dicks. 

"I know you can do it. Please stop pretending. The sooner you cast the spell, the sooner we can move on to something else," he said.

But that was the problem. She didn't want to move on to anything. Barrier spells, spirit magic. No. Next he was going to try to get her learn some of his rift spells and that was a whole other level of no thanks you.

Arrows and daggers. Swords. Illusion spells or conjurations spells if there was absolutely no other choice, but that was it. No more of this. She had her own set of rules. She wasn't changing them just because he said so. 

He rubbed his eyes and when he looked at her again, she thought she saw defeat.

Good.

It was about time someone actually listened to her. 

"Would you cast it for Dorian?" he asked, "If you'd prefer, he can take over your training."

He was clearly not listening. 

"You could summon the the god of all magic right now and it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference," she said, "I'm not doing this. I read your stupid book, what else do you need? "

"Why are you so stubborn? This could save your life," he said.

It could get her killed because it was a waste of time. By the time she fumbled to get in place and not drop her bow she'd have an ax buried in her skull. And if, by luck, she managed to cast it, it would be gone in two hits and she'd be dead anyway. Waste of time, waste of mana, waste of training. She'd do better setting up dummies for target practice. 

And where was Cole when she needed him? He was always so eager to rescue everyone who wasn't her. It was starting to sting a little. 

"I'm stubborn, he says," she said, "What about you? You just keep pushing this. Even though you know how I feel about it. I pity any actual apprentices you take on because you are insufferable."

His face goes purple. It makes him look a little bit like an eggplant. 

"Cast it once, just once and you can go," he said, "I am sorry I was trying to help you. I should have known you'd much rather drown in a pool of your own blood than learn something useful."

HA! As if she didn't save his stupid ass with her useless, pathetic arrows at least twice a day. It must have chapped his ass every single time she pulled it off. Bet if they were magic arrows, he would have approved. 

"Yeah, well, magic isn't for everyone." And this was probably the best she was going to get from him. But if it meant he wasn't going to nag her about spirit magic, it counted as a win.

"Clearly," he snapped.

She took a breath and once, just once, cast his stupid spell. It shimmered as it fell in place and he did not look even the least bit appeased.

Because of course he wasn't. She hadn't learned the whole stupid school yet. 

"Fine, there, You win," she said, "At least pretend to be happy about it."

"Go away before I change my mind."

Somewhere above, she heard Dorian laughing at them. Ass.


	33. Cole, We Need to Have Another Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would it kill the Inquisition to stock better weapons and armor?

"Do you remember all that useless shit I collected for the Inquisition?" Ellana asked. It was well past the hour she should have been fretting about things, but she couldn't stop herself. She had nothing and she needed everything.

Thanks to Dorian.

"Oh, you mean all the useless shit we had to leave behind when we were chased out of Skyhold? That useless shit?" Josephine asked, not quite smiling as she shuffles through a stack of official looking documents.

Oh. 

That would complicate things. A bit. 

"Well, that answers my next questions," she said, "Is there anything I can use to make a decent bow? Dorian left all of my gear behind. You might as well throw all these stupid wooden things directly into the fire. They're useless."

Because they were. 

The Inquisition had apparently decided archers could fuck right off because their equipment was deplorable. Flimsy wooden bows. Shitty arrows that barely passed through the straw practice dummies. Uncomfortable quivers that sat wrong no matter how she shifted.

She'd be lucky to kill a helpless baby something or other with it---the horrible undead, the dragons, the enemy Elvhen forces were more likely to hurt themselves from laughing so hard at her. Maybe that was the Inquisition's new strategy. If they couldn't defeat a god through conventional means, make him laugh himself to death. It could work.

"You should ask Sera," Josephine said, and then she was smiling, "She may have something you can use."

Yeah, no. Sera was still fully pissed off. Ellana wasn't about to knock on her...tent flap until she knew she wasn't going to take an arrow to the face.

She hadn't even gotten to the shitty armor they expected her to put on. She recognized it fairly quickly. It was exactly like the first set they threw at her way back when they thought she needed to be executed for breaking the sky.

It was probably the same set, she realized, and that meant it provided the same amount of protection as an empty, burlap sack. No, she thought, looking more closely at it, she was wrong. The burlap sack would have provided more protection.

They couldn't expect her to be useful like this. Her bound ethereal bow spell was going to get a lot of use this time around. But damn it because the Veil made magic about ten times harder to use. She was going to have to watch her mana. She hated watching her mana. She hated it almost as much as she hated Solas' spirit magic lessons.

And she hated those quite a bit.

She was not asking Sera for a bow. She was not. She was not. She was not.

"Fenedhis lasa! Stop. Here."

Abelas stuck his head out from one of the tents. Glaring, still glaring, he held a bow up, waved it at her and waited not so patiently for her to snatch it up.

"Now shut. Up," he said and disappeared back into the tent.

She stared at the space where his head had been, blinking as the shock wore off.

The bow was a good weight. It was well put together. It wasn't flimsy or badly maintained, and it was very similar to an enchanted elven bow she had liberated from bandits once. Looked quite a damn bit like refined moonstone. 

Sometimes, she really wondered about all of this. 

There was just a small matter of finding decent arrows now. Gods, she missed her daedric weapons. They were so delightfully sturdy. And sharp. And her armor, she reminded herself. The set with the lovely enchantments would have made her life so much easier.

It just never ended.

"Please go to sleep," Josephine said, still sorting through her papers, "You leave at sunrise. You're going to be miserable."

Yeah, she was right, but no. Every. Single. Time. She fell asleep she got sucked into the Fade and it was still the worst place she had ever been. And that included Apocrypha and that time she got sucked into Pelagius' mind.

Horrible.

"Do I have to ask Cole to kindly encourage you to listen to me?" Josephine asked, but it was more of a threat, really.

She wouldn't dare. And neither would Cole. Because it would be wrong and---and of course they would. They absolutely would mess with her mind and convince her sleeping when the Dalish god of evil was mad at yher was a great idea.

Gods but she was not having a good week.

"Fine. Yes. Ok," she said, "Don't. I'm going." More lies. She wasn't. She was going to curl up in her bedroll and stare at the tent ceiling and stay awake as long as possible. What was the recipe for that damn restore stamina potion? That could keep her awake, couldn't it?

Honeycomb and hawk beak and...

"NOW," Josephine snapped.

Ellana almost dropped her new bow. 

"Ok, I'm going!"

But instead, she slung one of the horrible quivers full of subpar arrows over her shoulder and slipped out of camp. Because the forest had to have birds and bees. And large antlers and bear claws. It was a forest. They were all pretty much the same.

Maybe she could get enough material to make some damn armor while she was at it.

 

She had the buck in range, arrow nocked and ready to fire, when she heard the crack of twigs under a heavy foot. She cursed and lowered her bow. She knew just who those footsteps belonged to.

"Hey, Boss, where are you headed?"

The buck bolted and with him went his antlers. Iron Bull arched his eyebrow and took it all in, and Cole merely looked at her. He kept behind Bull and just off to the side.

"Well, I was going hunting," she said, "But I'm going to guess Josephine sent you to bring me back?"

"Naw. Just curious. You can't sleep either?"

She could sleep just fine but that was the problem. She'd rather not. Ever. 

"I need a few things," she said, avoiding the question. He could probably guess anyway, probably already had. 

"Well don't let me stop you, carry on," he said. But he didn't turn around and head back to camp. He was going to shadow her, probably to make sure she didn't skip on out of here. 

As if she could. Dorian was her key to getting back home. Where ever he was, she had to be. Cole opened his mouth---

"Don't even think about it, Cole," she said. 

He had that dreamy, far away look on his face that meant he was about to unleash a cascade of her private thoughts. He was a good kid, but no offense, it was shitty and she was not in the mood. 

"None taken," Cole said.

Gods. just damn it all.

"You don't happen to have any extra leather, metal, large antlers, honeycomb, and bees do you? Maybe bear claws? Hawk beaks?"

Iron Bull stared at her for a long moment. He blinked.

"Um. No. Sera might have bees. You should ask her," he said, "No antlers either, but I have large horns. Heh, I'm kind of attached to 'em though."

Right. No. Still not asking Sera and why did everyone keep telling her to? He wasn't funny. Horns were not antlers. 

Cole opened his mouth again.

"No, Cole, no," she said, cutting him off, "I mean it." She was going to end up using the last of her energy just to keep him from sharing her thoughts. 

"If you're having trouble with the Fade, you should ask Viv. She's got a potion for that," Iron Bull said, "Don't tell her I called her Viv."

Ha! And still no. Vivienne was more likely to give her something that ensured she ended up in the Fade. Ellana would rather make her own potions. At least then she could keep track of the ingredients. 

And last she checked, Vivienne didn't have a spell to make the Inquisition craft better armor.

She blamed Solas. If he hadn't lost his mind, none of this would be happening. She wouldn't have to be here, with an overpowering fear of falling asleep. 

"He won't hurt you unless he has to," Cole said, "You don't have to be afraid."

Because that was comforting. As long as he doesn't want to hurt her...no, Cole. No.

No.

"Ah, so that's what this is," Iron Bull said.

And the forest was too quiet. They had effectively screwed her chances at hunting. 

"I don't want to talk about it." Ever. 

Iron Bull shrugged, ready with more of his sage advice, but he was interrupted by the sounds of a dozen armored boots crashing through the forest. She saw torchlight. She saw Cullen, his face lit up with the most glorious scowl she had ever seen.

"There," Cullen said, zeroing in on her. His scowl deepened and then he saw Iron Bull beside her. He stopped.

And she realized he had drawn his sword.

"Oh for fuck's sake," she said, "I'm not running away. Gods, can I please do a little hunting in peace and quiet?" They were worse than children.

"Well, what were we supposed to think?" Cullen snapped, "You shouldn't be out here at all. Get back to camp."

"Go fuck yourself, Cullen. If I want to go for a midnight stroll, I damn well will," she said, "I closed the breach for you. I think you owe me this much."

He sheathed his sword, his face suddenly scarlet. More embarrassed than angry. More flustered than offended.

"I didn't---I was just, Inquisitor, please," he said, "Do you have any idea---I'm trying to keep you alive. There are at least half a dozen bounties out on your head. This isn't about you running away."

Sure. Ok.

Wait. No. He was probably right about that. But she had dealt with assassins before. Over and over and over again. The Dark Brotherhood was good and she was still alive. She had at least half a chance against whatever assassins Thedas had. What were they called? The House of Repose? The Antivan Crows? 

"Just...don't go off by yourself, please," Cullen said, still red faced, still mortified.

"Does it look like I'm alone?" she asked. Iron Bull just looked at him and sort of shrugged. 

"Hey, in all fairness, you were alone," Iron Bull said. Traitor. 

And Cullen sputtered. She was not an infant. She was not so weak she had to be escorted everywhere by armored guards. She was not incompetent. Was he dropped on his head as a child?

She had survived the Imperial City as an orphan. Gods, she had survived Mira and the store and Father's devotion to Zenithar. If she could handle that, she could handle a forest and a few unruly deer.

Milk drinkers, the whole lot of them---

"Was he dropped on his head as a child? Milk drinkers, the whole---" 

She clapped her hand over Cole's mouth. Gods but she did not miss _this_.

 

Vivienne's special stay-out-of-the-Fade potion was a glorified vial of bullshit.

There was a wolf stalking her. It kept to the edge of her vision and backed away when she looked at it. Yeah, not really a wolf. She wasn't so stupid she didn't realize that.

"Go the fuck away already," she said.

She couldn't manipulate the Fade the way he did. She couldn't eject him from her horrible dream and she didn't trust he wouldn't learn too much about her here, things he would use against her. It really wasn't fair.

The Fade looked like Skyrim again. She was just west of Whiterun and there were giants in the distance, mammoths as well.

The wolf crouched in the grass.

"I can see you. I know who you are," she said, "Either tell me what you want or leave me alone."

His tail thumped the ground as he made his best "no-I-really-am-a-wolf" face.

"I'm starting to think Dorian was right and you do harbor inappropriate feelings for me," she said, unimpressed.

And of course, that did it. He was himself again and scowling. 

"If by inappropriate feelings you mean I would be delighted if someone tore the covers off of all your favorite books and replaced them with spirit magic tomes, then you are correct. That fantasy has been a particular comfort," he said, "The anchor is not reacting as I anticipated. I was concerned."

Oh dear.

"What did you think it would do? It's fine," she said. It had been dormant since she returned to Skyrim.

"It doesn't matter what I thought," he said, "What matters is it remains as it is. It is truly not hurting you?"

What in Oblivion did he think was going to happen to the anchor? _It doesn't matter what I thought_ was a terrible answer. 

"I think it matters, " she said, "What was supposed to happen? This is my hand. I'm rather...attached it it." God damn it, Bull. 

He grimaced. 

"That was terrible," he said.

"My hand, Solas, my hand," she said.

"It would have become unstable," he said, "It was unstable. Slowly killing you, but now? It has been altered somehow."

Nocturnal then. And she was doubly glad she had obeyed. It was Solas' magic that had put her life at risk. He hadn't even bothered to tell her. She had only lied about herself. He had known all this time and kept it from her. Her life. 

"I'm fine," she said. But furious and also incredibly uncomfortable. There was exactly no chance he gave two shits about her hand or her life. Not even one and a half shits.

"Then I am glad," he said and he smiled.

Solas. Glad. Solas. Smiling. He was being weird and she didn't like it.

She took a breath. Any time someone decided to wake her up now would be lovely, COLE. 

"Thank you, then. If anything changes I'll tell you," she said. Only because she didn't want to die, because fuck that. 

Go. Away.

 

She jolted to the feel of a hand on her shoulder. Cole was staring at her. He was an inch away from her face.


	34. That's not a Good Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She really wasn't surprised to see bounty hunters.

Ellana was having too much fun with this. The bounty hunters were better than mad red templars, and not just better, a shit ton better. Things had been generally awful so it was nice to face something a bit more challenging.

And now that everyone knew who and what she was, she didn't have to worry about hiding her skills. She could use them as she wanted even if it meant scaring people.

The first time she summoned a flame atronach she thought they were going to piss themselves. Maybe they did. Dorian certainly wasn't very happy.

But what did she care? It was just the two of them this time and she wasn't about to start pulling punches and risk getting taken down. 

Cullen was going to be furious when he finally caught up with them. 

He had decided she was a delicate flower and he needed to get that bullshit out of his head before she went mad. She was frustrated and her head ache was back and the stupid veil was making her angry. 

The flame atronach spun around in a graceful circle. It zeroed in on the nearest target and hurled a fire ball at him. 

"Rage demon!"

"She's a fucking mage!"

"Inquisitor's not a mage! That can't be her!"

"It is her, dumbass. Look at her hand---fuck the bounty, kill her! Kill her." Pfft, her hand wasn't even glowing. It was just a weird mark. She wondered just how many poor assholes with scarred palms these idiots accosted, thinking they were her. 

The flame atronach took exception to being called a rage demon. It chased after one of the archer, fireballs incinerating each arrow that came its way. 

"What the hell is that?" Dorian asked, as he hit the poor archer with Walking Bomb.

"Not really the time," she said, through gritted teeth. 

One of the stupid ones took one of her arrows to the face. He went down hard. Two more popped up to take his place. They rushed her---as if that was going to work.

"Yol Toor Shul!" 

They screamed.

They ran.

They burned.

When the archer finally exploded, it took the poor flame atronach with it. The captain and his lieutenant were the last ones standing and both looked like they regretted this. She knew she was rather disappointed. She had hoped they'd last longer. She hadn't even worked up a sweat.

"Hey, do you want to live?" she asked. 

The next shot caught the captain in the knee. He went down screaming. His lieutenant ran.

"I don't particularly enjoy killing," she said, lowering her bow, "So, how about you stay away from me forever and tell the idiot who hired you to fuck off?"

"Hold on, at least find out who it was first," Dorian said.

"Why? It doesn't matter," she said.

Dorian went purple.

"Doesn't matter? They just tried to kill you?!"

She shrugged.

"Everyone and their grandmother has a bounty on my head," she said, "It really doesn't matter who it was this time. It will be someone else tomorrow."

And the next time it might not be bounty hunters. It might be assassins. It might be a random merc group. It might be angry orphans with knives. What they really needed to worry about was finding a base of operations that was better than the stupid forest camp. 

"You're impossible. Do you know that?" Dorian asked. He muttered something under his breath. 

And then he turned to the captain, "Before you go limping off to god only knows where, tell us who your benefactor is."

The captain made a face---he looked like he was in a lot of pain. The arrow had gone in pretty deep.

"Highest price is Empress Celene at 200 gold," he said. He kept his eyes trained on them as he limped away.

"Well, that's disappointing," she said.

"Yes, well, you used up all your good will," Dorian said, "I would have been surprised if Celene hadn't put a bounty on your head."

"Not that," she said, because she couldn't give two fucks about Celene or anything in all of Orlais, "That bounty was pathetic. I thought it would be a thousand at least." She did lie to the world and steal an ancient god relic that nearly destroyed it. Celene was just being cheap. From the look of her horrible shiny ball gown and the hideousness that was her home, she could definitely afford to pay more than a pathetic 200 gold. 

Dorian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," he said.

"And I'm going to pretend Lydia isn't going to murder you if she sees you again, " she said, "I'm going to pretend my friends can just get along."

"I'm not exaggerating," she continued, "Lydia is going to kill you. But on the bright side, it will be quick. She's not one to drag things out."

"I'll try to keep that in mind," he said, "God, I need a drink."

Join the freaking club. 


End file.
